


Hate You

by Robeliza_Victoria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gay, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Third Person, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robeliza_Victoria/pseuds/Robeliza_Victoria
Summary: Harry and Draco seemed to be fine with their current dispositions, not until one decides to break and confess the 'truth' behind his character.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! ❤

The rambles of the Hogwarts students could be heard in the air, joyful and overlaying each other's voices as they ate their breakfast, the morning sun hot and welcoming, some owls flying around the hall to deliver their owners' mails. All would be in a good mood after waking up, just if they wouldn't look at Harry who was fuming on his seat, a froth of obvious anger bubbling on top of his nook. Everyone liked greeting The Golden Boy, though not this time.

Ron's eyebrows furrowed, staring at his distressed best friend. He honestly didn't know what he was supposed to say to Harry being in this state, Hermione wasn't here with him to lecture Harry either. Harry hadn't eaten a single edible thing since dinner last night yet he didn't show any signs of hunger. Ron didn't know what to do with Harry's eating habits.

"What's wrong? What happened? Can you please eat first?" he asked.

Ron's eyes slowly followed where Harry could possibly be giving his death stare - which directly landed to Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table, enjoying his breakfast with the other Slytherins, unfazed of Harry's glare or Ron's awkward look projected directly at him, though Ron was unsure if Draco could see them. He shook his head, he might have an idea how the situation would worsen if Harry won't be able to control himself.

"Let me guess, you had a _sick_ fight with Malfoy. You know it's not worth it, right? Not worthy of anyone's attention. You can simmer down, ignore him and eat your dinner. You're thinner since last week."

Ron smiled warily at him before he engulfed the rest of his pumpkin juice.

Harry knew that. Having an argument with Malfoy was pointless and childish but he didn't have a proper control of his temper himself, ever since Voldemort had managed to mess up with his head. It was a problem he had.

Ron noticed Harry still not bothered to look at his own food, still darting Malfoy a look that could cut skin. Ron sighed helplessly.

"So what did he do to make you this angry this time?" he asked, cheeks puffing up from the food stuffed in his mouth.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. Ron might be right, he must be overreacting again. He shouldn't be bothered of Malfoy this much. It would only encourage Malfoy to irritate him.

"He Hexed a couple of first years yesterday and I saved them, he hexed me too and I was the one who lost house points. Then he insulted my parents, like the usual insults, though I don't know why it still affects me. I'm... worried about myself too. I can't control my temper these days," Harry explained as calm as possible, surprised that he explained it without shouting. Ron nodded and gave Harry a pat on the back. Malfoy did _much_ worse in the past than this.

"Your You-Know-Who visions are still happening, right?"

Harry nodded and curved a small appreciative smile at his best friend. "Yes and thanks Ron. I might be having my visions about Voldemort but you know, Malfoy is a far worse enemy of mine here in Hogwarts."

Ron's pale cheeks reddened and elbowed him. "Don't say _his_ name!" he hissed and Harry had his laughing fit before his eyes were magnetized back at the Slytherin table. He squinted and watched Malfoy cackle with his friends, just like the devil that he was.

Since their first year in Hogwarts, Harry was never in good terms with him. He hated him and Draco felt the same. It has been that way ever since, and neither of them wanted to change that "relationship" they developed.

Harry didn't know what to feel at the moment. He had this gut feeling Malfoy was up to something. He just knew. It was all too obvious.

He drank his orange juice in one swift gulp, leaving it empty and stood off his seat. He can't calm down. He wants to do something.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked.

"Nowhere. I'll just prepare my school stuffs. I think I forgot something."

Harry didn't look at Ron while saying it because he himself knew he sounded lying. Without a time to waste, Harry dashed back to the Gryffindor common room, climbing upstairs to get his invisibility cloak under his bed. He still got an hour to get to their first class, and he wanted to talk to Malfoy and catch him walking doing his prefect job, hoping he could drag him inside an empty classroom. _I have to talk to him._

Harry waded the folded cloak, wrapped it around himself and made his way to the Slytherin house, avoiding every person he might bump on to. He's going to wait for Malfoy, drag him somewhere and have their conversation, quickly and professionally without Hexing each other.

He waited, his back propped on the wall. Watching the students pass before him. After a few minutes, he heard a familiar voice, that voice that sent his blood erupting in pure hot anger that he never could control.

"Being a prefect is damn tiring," he heard Draco said, approaching nearer Harry's direction, his eyebrows crinkled as if it joined together. He looked so stressed in such a fine morning.

Harry prepared himself, stood straight with alertness, waiting for the right moment so he could grab on Draco's robe. He braced his hands, hunkering down a bit as the Slytherin walked closer and closer towards him. He outstretched his hand to block Draco's way and a smile spread on his face as he got a handful of cloth with his hand.

_Got you._

"Bloody Merlin. Who in hell are you?"

Draco huffed as he held his chest, swiveling his head left and right to see who was the one who startled him. He found nothing but the paintings that had always hanged about. Harry grinned, poking his hands out his cloak and grabbed Draco's chest, dragging him.

"Hello? What are you doing? You're going to rip my robe!"

Harry rolled his eyes, continued his walk and found the nearest room he could find. He didn't let go of his grip on Draco's front, he squeezed it tighter, throwing him beyond the latched door and closed it immediately when the two of them are both inside, locking it completely with a spell. It won't take long. Confrontational talks don't usually last more than five minutes. They would either Hex each other or beat each other until one drops as a result, and it's okay. Harry would gladly fight for his ego.

"I am a prefect, you hear? If you don't show yourself I will hex the life out of - "

Before Draco could finish his sentence, Harry stripped his invisibility cloak off, revealing himself. Draco widened his eyes and took a step back. Harry smiled at his reaction.

"It's just you, Potter. What, may I ask, is your problem?"

Draco crossed his arms and waited for a response. Harry remained deadpanned, stood in front of the locked door, and copied Malfoy's action, crossing his arms as well.

"Look, I just want a proper talk."

"I'm not listening to you, and we're never going to have a proper talk," Malfoy said and cupped his own pocket. He must be attempting to feel his wand, yet basing from how his eyes widened, he seemed to have failed.

"You don't have your wand?"

Draco looked at anywhere except Harry's eyes.

"Just fuck off and leave me alone. Whatever scheme is this Potter, you can shove this up your ass and forget it because I'd _never_ listen to you."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed instantly, another set of bubbles of anger erupting inside him. Draco was more stubborn than he was and Harry was not going to tolerate him.

"I'm going to talk to you anyway. There is nothing you can do about it."

"I said, I _won't_ listen - "

Draco shut his mouth when he noticed Harry's wand trained right in front of him, a small spark of a familiar Hexing spell forming on the end of it.

"Alright. I'll keep this short and straightforward," Harry said, lowering his wand and cracked his neck. "What is your relationship with Voldemort?"

He watched Draco slowly release the tension off his shoulder and looked at Harry in the eye, eyes almost unpredictable, hard to read, like a child's eyes that was lost. Harry wasn't sure how he'd interpret Malfoy's expression. Draco almost broke his character, which was odd.

"Step out of my way, I'm going out whether you like it or not _._ "

Harry hissed. "Answer me first or your lips would be swollen later," he threatened.

Draco jolted and broke eye contact, crossing his arms again and looked at a spot on the ground. A blush crept on his pale cheeks and Harry realized why. His sentence sounded so off, like he would _kiss_ Malfoy hard to the point it swelled. Harry only wanted to spell Malfoy's lips to be bigger for a couple of hours. Malfoy might've misinterpreted the meaning.

"Look, _Potter._ It is none of your business what I do, none of your business what my relation is to The Dark Lord. Get that through your little brain."

Draco tried to maneuver his way out, craning his neck to seek a path to escape but Harry had already pressed his own back on the door, pounded on it, creating a startling sound. Draco jolted, curling, stepping back.

"I'm an enemy of The Dark Lord, Malfoy. You know your dad is a Death Eater, you know he was there when Cedric Diggory died in our fourth year. _You know_ all of the monstrosity going on here, yet you want to side to the devils? Side to the true enemy here?"

Draco's eyes shook, biting his lower lip. Harry might have said too much, but it was all he could think of. Harry's face softened for a moment.

"Don't talk about my father that way, Potter. You know nothing of his state, everything you hear is not always the truth. He's _not_ what you think he is. You don't know why I'm _siding_ with the devils, you know nothing!"

Harry's eyes widened. He looked at the floor and said, "Can you make me understand? You know your father is... you know what he did. You can't defend his wrongs. He's been a pawn and you bloody know it."

"So what if he's a Death Eater? What does it have to do with me? Don't ask me about him. If there's one thing I want the best right now, it is for you to stick your nose somewhere useful. If you don't, I'd happily tap dance in front of your grave beside your pathetic parents."

Harry's breath shortened, grabbing Draco's collar with his left hand. He pinned Draco on the nearby wall and pressed the tip of his wand on the blond's jawline.

"I've had enough of your nonsense, Malfoy," he whispered. "Last night was enough insult for the rest of our week, you keep crossing the line."

"What? It's true isn't it? Your stupid mummy and daddy tried to act heroic for you. As if they could save you. Look at you - they were wrong. You turned out to be a pathetic loser like they were."

Harry gritted his teeth and prodded the wand further on Malfoy's skin, watching it sink on the soft and pale flesh.

"I don't care about what you say. I need _answers._ " Harry's eyes were intense, not leaving Malfoy's agitated ones. He's used to this. The adrenaline rush of someone fighting with him, someone attempting to get under his skin to annoy him. Malfoy was perfectly taking that place for him and it's one of the most challenging problems Harry has in this school.

"Let me go, Potter. This is rather pointless isn't it? Nothing would change even if you punch me now. Everything is still the same, everything is still twisted. Our faith is still rotten," Draco said, arching his back, maybe getting a little numb from his same strained position.

Harry narrowed his eyes, on the verge of gouging Malfoy's eyes out. Why won't he say anything? There had to be some meaning behind Malfoy looking at that strange-looking cabinet back at Knockturn Alley. He _must_ be up to something, it must be related to The Dark Lord.

Harry kept his position, still gripping Malfoy's front. "Is answering my first question that hard?"

"Persistence is sometimes admirable, sometimes annoying. You befall on the second category."

"I hate you, Malfoy. You are so..."

Harry stared at his counterpart's eyes for awhile, with no sharpness, with no mask of hatred. For a moment, he saw Draco didn't look like he'd hit Harry hard. In fact, he looked like he was sad for a fraction of a second, full of past regrets and withered hope. Harry shook his head and lessened the grip he had on Malfoy's robe.

"I _hate_ you too, Potter. Deep within my veins."

Harry clicked his tongue before he released Draco. Instead of letting Draco go, he trapped him between the wall, his hands on Draco's side. The Slytherin's cheeks created a very vibrant shade of pink. Harry wasn't sure if it was out of anger or embarrassment - in Malfoy's case, it seems that either was the answer. They both simply stared at each other with so little space to breathe, so little movements to create, a jet of thunder connecting them as their eyes darkened.

Malfoy's eyes could be the most beautiful silver pupils Harry had seen if he wasn't so feisty and defiant all the time. His cheeks were flushed, and it really showed because of his milk-like pale skin. His face would be much more beautiful if it wouldn't glare and snarl at Harry all the time.

At the end of the day, no matter how beautiful this human being may be, he was still the ugly deceiving dragon he knew.

"Ten points from Gryffindor." Draco's voice was cracked. breaking the silence which Harry didn't understand why Malfoy said it so suddenly.

Draco seemed to have curl against Harry and he closed his eyes, becoming more uncomfortable than ever, realizing that his and Harry's personal space is too much occupied by each of them, too small, too privy, personal. One head movement, their noses would touch, their lips would collide - and it was _terrifying._ One heave and they'd feel each other's breath. Harry winced, disgusted of the possibilities that may happen.

"I'd get you next time, Malfoy. But I won't let you go until you apologize."

Harry grinned, pleased with how he projected himself, like he had control over Draco in even such a small situation. He smiled seeing Draco quivering in anger.

"We have classes, Potter. Or are you too stupid to the point you don't care about your failing grades? _And_ me? Apologize to you? I'd rather kiss you than do goddamn pathetic and stupid things like apologizing to your rival, Potter."

Draco furrowed his brows and Harry's eyes widened, but eventually his lips curved upwards and momentarily, Draco got confused why that was Harry's reaction. He flinched when he realized this had something to do with what he said last. He said he'd rather kiss Potter than apologize.

The Slytherin blushed to the core of his blond hair. He looked away, gulping all the remnants of the lump of his throat and blamed all the Gods for bestowing this curse upon him.

"You know what Malfoy? I'd actually like to see you try," Harry teased, actually waiting for Draco to just say an apology to him. He was confident he won't receive any kiss from him. _Blasphemy._

A seemingly interminable minute had passed, Draco was more fidgety in his position, desperate to be freed from Harry's grasp, but he kept his mouth firmly together, not sure of what to do next. Harry raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Well?" Harry waited for his apology, like Harry's holding a recorder, he'd record what the Slytherin would say to him. The apology he's anticipating to hear.

Draco started to think fast. He didn't want to say sorry to Harry, but he's sure he didn't want to _kiss_ him either. The two choices were bad, disgusting... _unfair._ Harry's been his rival since their first year. He'd disgrace himself if he apologized to this scrawny scarhead.

He closed his eyes shut and prayed to Merlin for a miracle.

"Come on, say your apology," Harry pushed. "I have the whole day ahead - "

Draco pulled Harry's tie, tipped his head forward, and furiously crashed his tight-lipped mouth to Harry's own, freezing on his spot. Suddenly, the air was hotter, his cheeks burned and his heart pounded. He didn't wait for the other boy's sentence to be finished anymore, he moved his lips without pattern and Harry's wand dropped on the floor, not catching up with what was happening before him.

It took three seconds before Draco pushed Harry hard on the chest. Harry slumped down to the floor, his back slamming to the door as he gasped for a good amount of air.

The blond's eyes shot open, giving Harry the look of ferocity and disgust. The Gryffindor still looked confused and the color of his tanned face was almost as red as his Gryffindor scarf.

"Did you _really_ think I will fucking apologize? I'd choose everything over apologizing because I, goddamn, hate you Potter," Draco said, plucking Harry's wand off the floor and spelled the door open. After he was done, he threw the wand back on the floor again and closed the door, leaving a trail of air and a loud banging sound, leaving Harry dumbfounded.

_What the hell._


	2. Chapter 2

"Harry? Are you okay? Ron, what happened to him?” Hermione waved her hands in front of Harry, who was dazed, eyes drifting at a spot at the ceiling.

“I have no idea, honestly. He’s been like that since this morning.”

Harry was still irked about the fact Draco kissed him instead of dropping a proper apology, manifesting his brain with the thought of it. Wouldn’t it be easier for the both of them if he apologized instead? Draco's ego really must be stark. Harry's stomach suddenly churned, along with his ego that felt like was crushed by Malfoy's larger ego. He was looked down upon, and he hated it.

His eyes couldn't focus and a rolled paper had slapped at the back of his neck before he knew it, making his nape sting. He peered past his shoulder to see who slapped him, and there he saw Snape looming over, staring at Harry ominously. He completely forgot he was in the dark room of Snape's Potion's class, all students that were usually upbeat had all befallen to a sudden deafening silence.

"Mr. Potter,” he said, his voice resonating in the quietness. “Head above the clouds so early in the morning?”

“No sir.” He blinked for an embarrassing second, knowing the students were all looking at him.

Snape arched his eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Just as I thought. Five points from Gryffindor."

Before Harry could retort, Snape had returned back in front of the class, and he, confused and mad and irritated of the cruel and unfair world, watched Snape write the ingredients for their today's potion-making at the board without attentiveness. He really couldn’t. Ron, who was his partner for today's brewing activity, swiveled his head sideways to look at him. Hermione in front of them turned around to look at Harry too.

He knew they’d scold him, tell him he was slacking off, but Harry didn’t want to listen to anyone yet. His problems were stoppering above his head and he felt like he was drowning.

“I said check up on Harry, Ron. What were you doing?” Harry heard Hermione. Ron said something like, “How would I handle him in the middle of discussion? _We're in Snape's class._ ”

He listened to his best friends bickering in a hushed tone, but his mind was still somewhere, overthinking about Voldemort controlling his mind and Draco's kiss. _God why was I thinking the kiss the most_. Snape was lecturing in front but no words of his registered in Harry's ears, as if the words were only passing from his ear to another ear. He noticed Ron looking at him.

“You've been flying in your thoughts since breakfast. It’s a bad habit. Gryffindors will start to run amok if we keep losing house points. We don’t want that don’t we?” Ron said.

“I know.”

“I'd cut the ingredients, you go read and stir the cauldron counterclockwise.”

Harry smiled noncommittally before doing what he was told to do. He may need to distract himself from all his problems. It would be bad for his mental health if he'd let Voldemort and Draco pester his mind. They were nothing, they were to be buried underneath his mind and not let them bother his perfect schedule.

After a few minutes, Harry's ears perked up when he sensed someone staring at him. He looked around the dim room, find out who it was and his eyes immediately narrowed when he saw it was Malfoy at the back of the classroom. 

His eyes widened. He saw Draco flinched and reddened at the sudden attention. The blond seemed to not expect Harry look at him because for a fraction of a second, he saw Draco looking at him with a frown, bothered and confused. Harry didn’t know if he did see that expression from Malfoy because it was immediately replaced by a sharp glare. Harry reciprocated the look instinctively. However, Draco looked down on his table again, tending to the ingredients he was cutting awhile ago and ignored Harry.

Harry wondered why was he staring at him with such a forlorn expression. What was wrong with him? Draco looked like he had a whirlpool of clattered thoughts inside his mind, and Harry was curious what it must be.

He received another smack from Snape's rolled paper, and took another set of five points from Gryffindor. Deciding it was best to focus on his and Ron's half-brewed potion, he looked down and chopped some of the ingredients remaining for him to do, face falling to a frown throughout the session for a reason he doesn’t know.

After their classes ended, Harry, along with Ron and Hermione, plucked a good amount of food off the hall and had their rest upon the warm and red Gryffindor Common Room all by themselves. The three of them sat on the large red carpet on the floor, encircling their food.

Hermione was the first one who started the conversation. 

“So Harry, you’ve been dozing off in class I see,” she said.

Harry chewed his food silently, guilt tugging on his stomach, his eyes were fixated on the fire of the hearth. He knew he was dozing off in class and it was partly Malfoy's fault.

After swallowing, he answered, “Sorry, ‘Mione. I know you’re concerned of my dropping grades.”

Hermione's eyes softened. “I am concerned of your grades, as always, but it’s not just your grades I’m concerned about. I am your best friend too. You can always tell me and Ron what’s bothering you. If this is about… Voldemort and your _visions_ , me and Ron are the first to have to hear it.”

Harry looked at her, his eyes shimmering with appreciation, heart warming up by the comfort of his friends's support. He wouldn’t know what to do without them.

After a few minutes of contemplation, he finally told them what bothered his mind since the start of his day, excluding the bits of Malfoy kissing him inside the empty room. It would’ve been embarrassing if he added that information too.

Ron was the first to respond. “I told you engaging with Malfoy in any sort of way means trouble. It was so wrong of you to go after him without me and Hermione. What if he had his wand? You would be in detention by now.”

Harry frowned, nodding. Ron's stern look faded gradually, then smiled. It was a sign that he already forgave Harry and Harry smiled back. 

“By the way,” Hermione said. “Tomorrow, all prefects are required to go to this gathering arranged by Professor McGonagall. I don’t know the rest of the details but I think the head boy could tell me all about it. I asked Professor if a few friends could come. She gave me her approval.”

“You mean I could come? What if it’s bothersome?” Harry asked.

Ron was the one who answered him. “It won’t be bothersome. Besides, our other friends would be there. I invited them. Do you want to go? It’s not required but me and ‘Mione would want you there.”

Harry paused eating for a moment. If all prefects would be there, then it means Malfoy would be there. His heart immediately thrummed loudly. He didn’t want to deal with Malfoy yet. His weekends are supposed to be his resting days from all the school's tiring work, not see Malfoy.

Hermione was too quick to pick up what Harry might be thinking and said, “If you’re worried about Malfoy, don’t be. We'd keep you away from him. Cho Chang would be there if that eases you up.”

“Oh.”

For a moment, he had completely forgotten about Cho but upon remembering, he calmed down a bit. Maybe his Saturday won’t be too bad after all. He could ask the well-mannered and beautiful Cho to have a drink with him, avoid Malfoy at all cost and have fun.

“I'll go then.”

*****

The Room of Requirement was filled with hyper teenagers drinking and dancing all over. It was already nighttime and it was odd that Professor McGonagall allowed this gathering to occur past curfew. 

He was wearing his baggy trousers and t-shirt, and he felt like an utter outcast. Some students wore little to no clothing while he was the only one overly-clothed, all the boys he saw were all half-naked and some of the girls were shamelessly showing their bras and undergarments. 

_Ron and Hermione said they’ll tend to me yet I can’t find them._

The music too was loud and it was practically destroying Harry’s eardrums, the energy of the color-changing room was dizzying. Harry wasn’t a party person in the first place, he shouldn’t have come.

When he was about to walk around and find Ron and Hermione, the room shifted to a different-looking room. The surrounding swirled for a second before it settled to a nice wooden room, like a cottage someone would find on a country side. The lighting changed as well, turning the dizzying disco lighting to a nice dim fire flicking kind of lighting.

Now he could see everyone properly and momentarily got confused when the full-packed crowd suddenly dissipated, leaving the room with a much fewer people. A hand yanked Harry backward that caused him to almost trip. 

He turned around and saw the cat-eyed Slytherin smiling at him like the Cheshire cat from a muggle movie, wearing a heavy black mascara. She looked beautiful in her fitted green robes, Harry would admit. And she smelled like candy. This girl seemed decent, but Harry was aware that she's a good friend of Malfoy's. That means she's trouble.

“Hey handsome.” She stretched her manicured fingers and trailed it on Harry's shoulders. “Everyone really leaves when it’s Truth or Dare time. You’re one of the late comers, that means you’re not allowed to leave along with the cowards.”

Harry's eyes widened, though his recovery was immediate. He shot back his own smirk towards her. “I’m not leaving, Parkinson. I’m just about to join the game.” Harry captured her hands and gripped it flirtatiously. “I’m not a coward.”

Parkinson's grin widened, showing her perfect set of teeth. “Right. That’s more like it, Potter. We need more egoistic bastards like you around here. I know you’re looking for Weasley and Granger. They’d be here in a moment.”

She dislodged herself off of Harry's hand and walked to the middle of the room, clapping her hands to gather everyone’s attention. Harry would say she was feisty, but her confidence was impressive.

“Thank you for all the remaining wizards and witches here who knew what fun means. Now if you all could gather around in circle and play Truth or Dare with me, I’d appreciate it!" she yelled and everyone simpered excitedly, some murmuring their disapproval of the game.

Parkinson rummaged through her robe pocket and raised an empty firewhiskey bottle. She then hunkered down and placed the bottle on the floor. She sat first on the ground with both of her legs tucked under thighs then everyone joined her to form a circle. 

Harry stood there, confused and still lost, hoping for Ron and Hermione to appear. He said he was not a coward yet he wanted to back out. Harry was planning his glorious escape, tiptoeing carefully towards the exit to dash back to do his assignments when Hermione and Ron busted in the door. They were panting and out of breath. When they noticed Harry’s presence, they smiled and urged him to join the circle.

_I guess I can’t escape now, can I?_

Harry asked them where they came from and Ron answered that Professor McGonagall only informed the two of them to be in charge incase something ran amok through the game.

With no choice, Harry trudged back with them to the hyped circle, begrudgingly pressing his bum to the floor, then crossed his arms sulkily. His curious eyes roamed around and counted the people he knew mentally. Ron and Hermione flunked him and he saw some of their housemates scattered around: Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan and Collin Creevey. He also recognized some Hufflepuffs: Ernie McMillan, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot. He barely recognized all the Ravenclaws except Luna Lovegood and Cho Chang. Then lastly, the Slytherins: Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and… Draco Malfoy, who bothered his mind for the whole day. 

As always, Malfoy was the palest of them all. He wondered a bit what products did he use to be this milk-skinned. Harry’s eyes squinted and scanned him further, guiltily: he was elegantly dressed in a seemingly expensive black and fit clothing, the sleeves clinging on his slender arms. Suddenly, Harry felt insecure of his baggy clothes and hugged himself smaller in the circle. He didn’t know why Draco was still bothering his mind, making him insecure, but he didn’t want to think about it further. It was making his head ache.

Draco saw him staring, and like the avoidant boy Harry was, he glared at Draco before turning his head to listen to Parkinson who was shushing everyone.

She said, “We are aware why we are gathered in this circle. As we all know, I was the one who suggested this gathering since I know each of us needed break and needed to let out the _wild beast_ hiding inside us once in a while. That means I was the beautiful beast who suggested this game to the Professor too.”

Harry buried his chin on his knees and kept his gaze on the floor, trying his best to look uninterested despite the fact his heart was pounding and clenching beneath him for a reason he didn't know.

“So,” Pansy continued, “I got this Truth or Dare game from a muggle friend of mine, and the rules are really simple: when the bottle lands on you, you will be the person who’d ask “truth or dare?” to the person who got the second spin of the bottle pointed on him, then if you obliged diligently, then you can spin the bottle next and ask away. The cycle continues. You are to oblige because you’d be punished if not. I asked dear Granger from Gryffindor myself to put a curse on someone who won’t be successful of doing their task. Dear Granger is a smart witch and deadly skilled at charms, just a reminder. She won’t make it easy for us if we cheat or back out.”

Harry sighed helplessly and like Malfoy was, he was quiet when the game started. Pansy spun the bottle and it landed on Draco first, upon the second spin, it pointed on Ron. Harry kept frozen on his seat and watched Draco's thin lips curve up to a smile.

Ron chose truth and Draco asked, “Have you, Weasley, ever made out with Granger in public?”

As expected, Ron's face blended the color of his hair. He waited for the crowd's noise to dissipate before he answered.

“I have. A couple of times.”

Harry felt the secondhand embarrassment and he buried his nose on his shin to hide the blushing of his face. He certainly didn’t want to hear or imagine the details of Hermione and Ron making out or humping on each other like bunnies. 

So in this tension-filled room, the game continued after Ron had spun his bottle. Harry wasn’t really paying attention to the game. He was watching but he could compare this game to the uninteresting muggle movie that his Uncle Vernon watched during the afternoons.

“Potter.”

A voice rattled him out of his thoughts and it was late when he realized the room was quiet, all eyes fixated on him, some gaping, some looking at him with horror-filled eyes.

Including Malfoy, who was standing across him, crossing his arms and like the crowd, he was staring at him too. Harry squinted, confused and had the sudden urge to coil on his seat. _What's wrong this time? Have I done something?"_

“Potter,” Malfoy said again, raising his eyebrows. Harry wasn’t sure, but the blond’s cheeks were red. “You heard the dare.”

“What?”

“Don’t just stare there, Potter. _Stand_ up.”

Harry's throat constricted, not really processing what was happening. He looked at everyone helplessly and only Pansy who offered him explanation.

Pansy was smiling, and Harry felt something so ominous about it.

“Sorry to burst your bubbles, Potter but I dared Draco to make out with you in a wardrobe until I say stop.”

Harry gaped, not hiding the horror that crept on his face and internally combusted. Harry had never felt his face this warm before. Instinctively, he stood and ran towards the door. Everyone was encouraging him to come back to the circle, but he wasn’t listening. He didn’t want to. _There is no way I’d kiss Malfoy again._

He turned the knob, kicked it, spelled it, but none of his tactics worked. He saw Hermione from his peripheral stood from the circle and approached him.

“Harry,” she called, tapping his shoulders, “I spelled that to not open until the task is done. I'm sorry. I didn’t know Parkinson would dare you that.”

Harry lessened the grip on the knob and turned around to face her. It wasn’t her fault at all, but he’d rather leave than kiss Malfoy.

“Can’t you help me escape?” Harry asked.

“No,” Hermione said. “I really apologize, Harry. I can't un-spell what I’ve casted, even if I want to help you. That’s why Pansy reminded this game is dangerous. I’m sorry.”

Harry drew in a deep breath and nodded. He looked back at the circle and immediately turned red when he saw Malfoy looking at him, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground. The circle wasn’t helping either, some are either cheering Malfoy, while some have blatantly disgusted expression written on their faces. Harry could relate.

Sighing again, he trudged back to the circle and made sure he threw daggers of threatening glare directly at Parkinson before he looked at Malfoy. He knew this lady was up to no good. 

He stood in the middle of the circle, clenched his fist. He clicked his tongue at Malfoy and asked Parkinson, “So what do we do?”

The girl smirked and she nodded at Malfoy, like some form of telepathy and signal Harry didn’t want to know. Draco, who seemed not bothered of everything, offered his hand to him noncommittally. He couldn’t believe Malfoy was okay with this. Harry's heart started pounding loudly, louder than the voices in the circle all combined.

“I don’t like wasting time, Potter,” Draco said. “Let's go. It's my dare, and I’m not a coward like you.”

Harry's nose flared, cheeks still warm, stared at Draco’s hand first and stood there frozen. He didn’t know what to do, to respond. He wasn’t a coward either, but isn’t this dare too much?

“Let me guess, Potter. You, _couldn't_ do this.” Draco said and the whole circle hooted teasingly. Harry clenched his fist, flustered. He couldn’t believe that his own housemates were cheering and betraying him like this. He apologetically glanced at Cho looking at him sadly before he answered Malfoy.

“Just go ahead to the wardrobe first, and I’ll follow.”

Draco’s smirk dissipated, probably not expecting Harry's sudden compliance and swiveled around to walk out of the circle, strode away and halted in front of a dusty-looking wooden wardrobe. Harry trudged defiantly, heart beating faster and faster as he reached the wardrobe.

“Look, Malfoy,” Harry said. “I didn’t know what was Pansy's motive, but I’m just going to remind you that I don’t like kissing you.”

Draco opened the wardrobe and looked at him, peering through his shoulder. “I don’t know that. It seems that the last time we kissed, you eagerly moved your lips.”

Harry made a sound that was mixed startled and annoyed. The nerve of this male is unbelievable.

“I wasn’t the one who initiated _that_ kiss, was I?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy yourself with my kiss, Potter. No girl ever rejected it, and you’re not an exception.”

Before he could retort, Draco already vanished behind the wardrobe. With him still gaping and eyes wide, he followed Draco inside and shut the door furiously. The voices from the circle had muffled, and the dim light got dimmer inside the wardrobe, the air was limited and he could clearly feel Draco’s breath behind him, warm and tense. Harry turned around, groaned and pushed Malfoy to the other side of the wardrobe.

“Why didn’t you complain to Parkinson?” Harry asked, aware of the close proximity of Malfoy almost pressing on his body. “We don’t like each other, we _just_ don’t and that was established a long time ago. I can’t believe you didn’t complain to her and I can’t _believe_ I’m in this wardrobe with you right now.”

He saw Malfoy's face softened but as always, he was too quick to change his expression. Now he glared and walked towards Harry by one footstep. Draco leveled his face with him and stared at him, leaning forward. Harry's body shuddered, his back already pressed on the door. Malfoy, taller by an inch, was already a mere centimeter away from his face.

“I know you hate me, Potter and I really hate you as well. If we could just get this over with, you and I won’t have to suffer anymore. So can you cooperate?”

Malfoy's low and hushed voice did wonders to Harry's heart and body. He stared at Malfoy's eyes for a moment, trying to make something out of it, decipher it, read the grey forlorn eyes that glared at him fondly for the past five years but he couldn’t. Malfoy was good at masking his emotions.

“Will you be fine kissing me again?” Harry didn’t know why he asked that, but he felt that even though they hate each other, consent was necessary. Draco's pale cheeks pinked and looked at the ground again and panned back to Potter's eyes.

They stared with wonder at each other first, confused why they did it, but Harry just knew at the moment that he wanted to feel that thin and soft mouth again on him. Harry's heart trembled at the thought, excited and guilty. A few seconds later, simultaneously, they leaned forward, closed their eyes and captured each other's lips. Harry's heart leapt at the first contact, and he moaned.

He tilted his head, his head heady, and started moving his lips against the familiar soft and thin lips parting to let Harry's tongue in. And so he did, his tongue prodding in to the warmth of Draco's pliant and wet mouth. Harry's hand felt restless so he snaked his arms around Draco's waist and pulled him forward, their bodies colliding, their bodies feeling not enough of each other. Harry shuddered when a moan escaped Draco's mouth and he unconsciously ate that sound out of him, wanting to hear more of it, kissing Draco harder and eagerly. The blond almost tipped backward from Harry’s hastiness. Draco had catch himself immediately and instinctively hooked both of his hands on Harry's nape for him to not fall again, leaning forward, looking at Harry's glazed and dilated eyes and placed a quick kiss on Harry's chin, his nose nudging on Harry's jaw, as if asking for more, asking for another round.

Harry didn’t expect for Malfoy to do that but his heart fluttered by it, and kissed Malfoy on the lips again, gradually losing his breath, his drunken head couldn’t think of anything but to continue kissing Malfoy until he was satisfied, _until_ Malfoy was satisfied, harder, deeper and longer than the swift three-second kiss they shared yesterday. When their mouth finally separated, they slid to the ground.

“I didn’t hear Parkinson's stop signal,” Harry said. “Had she given it?”

“She gave her stop signal minutes ago.”


	3. Chapter 3

The weekend had passed too quickly and Harry did his best to distract himself from all the things that happened to him last Saturday night. He did all his homework without Hermione's orders, he brewed his failed concoction for Potion’s class over and over again and read his test reviewers until he fell asleep.

Monday morning, his face was pale and the bags under his eyes were larger . He walked down the Great Hall with tired footsteps, looked for Ron and Hermione's usual spot and sat between them, burying his face on the mantel like his body was the heaviest thing he was carrying. Ron nudged him his breakfast bowl and Hermione poured him a glass of water.

“Harry,” Hermione called, “last Saturday – “

Harry turned his head towards her, a little irritated and knew what she wanted to say.

“’Mione, I’m honestly fine, no need to keep apologizing about _that.”_

“We don’t think you're fine. You skipped dinner last night again, and I found you studying past bed time, that’s _so_ not you,” Ron said.

Harry's face warmed up. He couldn’t say that he only skipped dinner because he wanted to avoid Malfoy, by all means not eating.

“Can’t I study once in awhile?” Harry defended.

“Yes you can, but you just exceeded Hermione's three hours of study time and that’s not normal. I didn’t think you fell asleep too, I think you passed out from hunger.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and swallowed a spoonful of his morning porridge. His stomach ached once the porridge reached his digestive system, growling for more food. He just realized he really was that hungry he could eat a cow.

Ron and Hermione seemed to had get that Harry didn’t want to be talked to for a while, so they didn’t bother him further, minding their own meal. Harry then looked around for a second, guiltily, left and right, and saw no blond wandering about the hall to antagonize him or hex him.

He supposed that was good, no student would be harmed by hexes. But knowing Malfoy, he never misses one of his breakfasts. He was direly strict with everything that he does, and Harry was suspicious. He really shouldn’t be concerned of the blond, but he felt uneasy. Malfoy was prone to trouble, and he might have been in one again.

_And none of my business what he does with his life._

Harry drew a deep breath, shook his head and ate the rest of his porridge silently with a disconcerted stomach.

*****

Throughout the first three classes, Harry didn’t see Malfoy attended in any of it. It was odd of him to slack off in classes. He was almost like Hermione when it comes to being diligent in everything that they do, Malfoy wouldn’t abandon his grades like this. Harry had urges to ask some Slytherins where could he be, but that would look like he was concerned of Malfoy, so he didn’t. With hands clenched, he strode out of his thirdly finished class and looked left and right.

His gut was trying to tell him something, and it said it smelled trouble. He walked across the corridor briskly, his wand firmly grasped by his right arm and went to all the places he had an idea where Malfoy could be.

First, he went at the library, he peered in between shelf to another shelf and saw no blond reading anywhere. He next went to the dueling club room, and it was empty. He thought about going to the Room of Requirement next but a Hufflepuff boy caught his attention. The boy was panting for breath and dashing towards Harry's direction.

Harry hunkered down and greeted the little boy who seemed to be a first year student. He asked the boy what was wrong, and the answer was immediate.

“Mr. Potter, I’m glad I found you,” the boy said, voice rattled and trembling. “I was about to use the comfort room, but… but I saw a man in one of the stalls drenched in blood. It was all over the floor. _Please,_ help me. I think he'd die!”

Harry's eyes widened, then he squeezed the boy's shoulder to comfort him. 

“Would you be okay if you show me where he is?” he asked.

The boy nodded, almost teary-eyed, and tugged Harry's sleeve hesitantly. He followed the boy, his heart beating rapidly as he thought of the endless possibilities what may have caused the incident. Could a Death Eater be behind this? He doesn’t know. Harry gripped his wand tighter than ever. _Or could it be Malfoy in dire help?_ He didn’t want that to happen to Malfoy, or to any Hogwarts students in general.

Upon reaching the bathroom, he held the boy's chest and said, “I don’t want you to come in here with me. You could get hurt. Could you run to the Hospital Wing and ask for Madam Pomfrey's help instead?”

The boy nodded and ran away to go do what he was told, as for Harry, he braced himself and entered the eerie and dark bathroom. He raised his wand, eyes hyperaware and ready for potential intruders, just in case someone would attack.

He walked and walked per stall and peered at the bath, and indeed he saw a pool of blood across. Harry dashed instinctively towards the blood's direction. He stopped his tracks upon arrival at the stall with the blood, he pulled the door carefully and gaped at what horror he saw, a chill had run down his spine. 

Malfoy was on the floor, sitting and bleeding all over. He seemed to have been stabbed right on the side of his stomach by a small knife. Harry's heart clenched. _Who would do this?_

He had put his wand back his pocket and entered the stall. He hunkered down, plucked Draco's wrist to check if his pulse was still beating, and when he felt beats, he encircled his arms around Malfoy's waist, carefully dislodging the knife off of Malfoy, a terrifying amount of blood pumping through Harry's own heart as he lifted the blond up off the blood-drenched tile. The smell of blood was overwhelming, hurting Harry's nose, but that didn’t matter. He needed Malfoy out of the floor.

Harry settled at the exit and placed Malfoy there, waiting for the Hufflepuff boy and his help. Harry heard Malfoy murmur something incoherent, and for a moment, the blond's eyes fluttered open, in pain, glazed and Harry pressed his own palm on Draco's forehead. Harry’s fingers felt like it sizzled when it felt Draco's skin, hot as boiling water.

“Hey, stay with me. Can you hear me?” Harry asked and Draco nodded. Relief washed through Harry's insides by the small response. He didn’t know what to do so he pressed his hand on Draco’s affected area, to prevent the bleeding for awhile.

“How did you find me?” Draco panted and shut his eyes again, his voice scarily fading away from him. “Of all people who’d find me, why the _fucking_ Golden Boy,” he said more to himself.

Harry's eyes widened, then his eyebrows furrowed. He couldn’t believe this person's gut. He’s all bloody and drenched in his own fluid yet he’s acting like this. 

“You’re on the brink of dying yet you’re still thinking about your ego.”

Draco hummed and didn’t answer anymore, propping his head on the door and kept his eyes shut. After a few minutes of waiting, Harry saw the Hufflepuff boy's head poking at the door. Madam Pince showed up next, and was the one who carried Malfoy down to the Hospital Wing and laid him down on one of the beds. 

Harry sat on an empty bed beside where Draco laid and watched Madam Pomfrey do her healing. He was tensed the whole time, and he wanted to hear what Madam Pomfrey had to say about Malfoy's condition.

After a few minutes, Malfoy was all cleaned up from his own blood, tended and better. Madam Pomfrey then turned to Harry and showed him a small bottle.

“He’s all better. But could you observe him for awhile, Potter? I have to speak to Professor Snape about this incident in his office. Make him drink that by mixing it to his water. The glass is on the table beside him, and make sure he has towel on his forehead. It’s all on the table.”

Harry outstretched his hand instinctively and the madam handed him the bottle. She squeezed his shoulder before scurrying and vanishing behind the door, leaving Harry alone with an already sleeping Draco Malfoy. He sighed, without a choice, he strode towards the side of Malfoy's bed and did all what was told. 

He thumbed the bottle open and poured it in the glass of water, then mixed it with the spoon. He picked the dry towel next, dipped it in the bowl full of water and wringed the cloth, the moisture dripping back down the bowl. He waded and folded it, walked beside Malfoy's bed again and sat on the edge of it.

“Malfoy? Wake up,” Harry said, tapping the boy's cheek. “Madam Pomfrey said you need to drink this.”

Malfoy's brow arched, his heavy-lidded eyes slowly opening. Harry almost widened his eyes with what he’s seeing. Draco looked vulnerable and weak, like he was about to cry. Harry never thought Draco would show this face to him.

“You’re still here with me, Potter?” Malfoy's voice was cracked and Harry didn’t insult him for it, surprisingly. Draco actually sounded like a cat who wanted attention.

“Drink this, please,” he insisted.

Malfoy didn’t retort, and Harry was shocked that Malfoy obliged. Malfoy picked the glass of water Harry was offering him and weakly drank from it, only finishing the half of the content and handed it back to Harry. His eyes immediately closed again, and Harry thought Malfoy must really be tired.

“I'll put this on your forehead now,” Harry said and placed the towel on Draco's forehead. After, he pressed the underside of his palm on the boy's neck to check his temperature, and was satisfied when he figured that Draco was less warm. The potion seemed to have worked already, and that was good.

Malfoy didn’t move anymore, probably already sleeping. Harry sighed in relief and tucked Draco back in his blanket himself. 

He couldn’t help but think why Malfoy was stabbed. Malfoy might be a walking spawn of devil, but he wasn’t worthy enough to be hurt like this. Now that he thought about it, he was a Malfoy with a Death Eater father. That only means Malfoy was living a miserable life.

Harry's face fell to a sudden frown, sitting on the edge of the bed again and stared at Malfoy's sleeping figure. He felt an overwhelming amount of sympathy tugged his heart, and so he unconsciously gripped Draco's hand and squeezed it. Draco's face held wonders and beauty that were more prominent when he’s sleeping. His eyelashes were long, and his lips were parted as he breathed.

As his eyes drifted along Draco's arm, he noticed red marks all over his wrist and his eyes widened.

 _Self-inflicted cuts?_

He curiously trailed his fingers on the scarred arm with a pounding heart, and that’s when he noticed there was a lot more when he pushed the sleeve up, revealing a much worse mark way up his arm. A chill ran down on Harry's spine when he saw it up close.

 _The Dark Mark._ The same mark he saw on the Death Eaters' arms. Harry’s heart clenched, as if a strong wind blew over him and whipped his head back and forth.

That means Draco was a Death Eater. Draco was already among them, one of them. _Why would he let himself be marked… God, he's not…_

No. _Wait_. Basing on the cuts, Draco must’ve tried removing the mark over and over again. It was painful to look at. It was all swelling and scarred, little brown keloids and blotches of red patches are surrounding it, and it looked horribly painful. Harry bit his lower lip and held Draco's hand firmly.

“God, I didn’t know this. I – “

Harry made a hypothesis that Draco must have attempted suicide. He might’ve stabbed himself and Harry was in a state of shock he couldn’t identify. He was speechless and in no position to meddle with Malfoy's business yet his disturbance about this sensitive topic was extreme.

He stayed holding Malfoy's hand for he didn’t know how long, but at least, even in Malfoy's sleep, he wanted to offer him the comfort he couldn’t get when he's awake, the comfort he needed more than anything.

He’d have to do something about this. He needed to help Malfoy.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry wasn’t able to move or think properly for the next whole week. Because of that, none of his assignments were answered correctly, he lost house points instead of gaining and nothing changed of his horrible eating pattern. He would gladly blame it all on his odd visions and Draco, _especially_ Draco.

The urge to talk to Malfoy about his scarred arm was overwhelmingly drowning that he hadn't stopped thinking about it since then. He wasn’t concerned of Malfoy and he didn’t even care what he did, but this time, Harry felt different. He wanted to involve himself in Draco's life, involve himself in his problems for a reason he couldn’t identify. Draco needed help and he thought he could offer it to him.

“Dozing off again?” Harry heard a voice beside him and he realized it was Ron's. Harry faced him and sighed heavily, slumping his head on the table. He was hungry, tired and damp from sweat, yet he was in the library, studying. Harry wanted to take a bath so badly. If he hadn’t overworked himself in Defense class for distraction, he wouldn’t be in such state.

“I'm just tired,” Harry said, and it was partly true. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you possibly thinking of Malfoy again?” Hermione asked across him and Harry's eyes widened. He swiveled his head up, looked at her and furrowed his eyebrows. It annoyed him how quick Ron and Hermione judged him.

“It’s _not_ always Malfoy. Not at all,” he snapped and upon realization he raised his voice, he apologized and flopped his head back on the table, sighing. He was in a tremendously bad mood and he didn’t want to project his irritation at them.

Though Hermione was right. It was Malfoy who’s he thinking of. He couldn’t help it.

“How about you go take a rest? I want you to eat plenty, _not_ wander about and rest on your bed, can you do that?” Hermione said.

Harry rose his head and gave her a look that said it won’t happen. “I can’t do that, Hermione. You guys know my situation. I don’t live a normal life having this scar, having these visions and having Malfoy around. I’ll keep messing up even after being lectured by the two of you. I’m sorry, but I don’t do things normally.”

Hermione sighed, then squeezed Harry’s hand laying upon the table. “It's fine. But don’t you want to rest from all that for a moment? After Ron mastered these charms, he could teach these to you in the Common Room. We don’t like scolding you, but _look_ at you. You’re paler, your performance in classes is dropping. Look at your cheeks too, they sank.”

Harry chuckled at the last comment. He arched his brows and leaned back, crossing his arms. “Am I less handsome because of that?”

Ron snorted. “Two blokes and three girls just sent you love letters this week. _How_ are _you_ less handsome, you damn sod?”

Harry chuckled, closing his book. “I never read their letters. I’ll go eat downstairs, I'll be back. Can’t abandon duties.”

Just as promised, after Harry had eaten downstairs to the hall, he made sure he returned to library, walking back to the direction where the library was. Harry ate with his other Gryffindor friends and he would say that catching up with them was quite a distraction, he didn’t think of his problems for half an hour.

Then sauntering his way back at the library, stomach satisfied and full for the night, his head was yet again filled with what he was supposed to not think of. 

_Malfoy, now that I think of it, I haven’t seen him properly since he was wounded._ Harry closed his eyes and stopped his tracks for a moment, attempting to erase Draco out of his mind in the middle of a corridor. He had began walking and without wanting to, images of Draco through the whole hell-ish week he saw him flashed in his mind, like a machine without an off switch.

Pissed off, his mind started running. This wasn’t the time to think of him.

Harry wasn’t dense not to notice he was being deliberately avoided by Draco, and that bothered him. He and Malfoy were partners last Monday to take care a batch of Flobberworms. Before, Malfoy would usually throw him bits of insults throughout their task but instead of doing just that, he singlehandedly did the task all by himself. Harry didn’t even have a chance to hold a single Flobberworm, supposing it was a two-person task. It made Harry's blood simmer. The next few days were still the same. Neither of them threw Hexes upon seeing each other. They kept avoiding each other's eyes and pretended one another was not existing. And they’ve been both very good at keeping that up.

Harry drew in a deep breath. He arrived at the library only to find their table empty. Hermione and Ron had fled somewhere he didn’t know where because none of the books were left on their table. It was all empty, no vestiges of clues that they’d studied there. They didn’t even wait for him. 

Harry sighed again and decided he has to study by himself. He walked to the familiar bookshelves he went to just before he left to eat. He stacked the heavy books upon his arms until the height reached his chin. When he turned around to return at the table, his books had hit someone on the chest. It all trembled in his grasp before it cascaded to the floor, creating a very startling sound. To his inconvenience, his glasses flew either, joining the fallen books.

Harry hunkered down immediately and tried to find his glasses first.

“I am so sorry I didn’t see you,” Harry said, hands seeking still for his glasses. He had no idea who he bumped with, and he found his position embarrassing. “I apologize too about my vision, being poorly-sighted is an inconvenience.”

A few seconds later, he had finally found his glasses and wore it back to his face. He stacked the books back to his arms before he stood to face the person he bothered the time of.

His cheeks warmed and his mouth hung open as his eyes locked with the person in front of him. 

“Yes, hello, Malfoy. Sorry,” he said briskly and his free hand scratched the back of his neck. Draco had books in his arms too, and compared to Harry's, it was lesser, and it only reached his chest.

This was the first time he’d seen Draco up close again. He looked all better and still looked formal as ever even in his plain white shirt, blending with the color of his skin and pants, that clung on his slender legs. Draco was pale, but Harry was sure this was his natural complexion, at least he looked better compared last week. Harry was internally relieved. 

“I,“ the blond coughed and nodded, “Potter, are you going to read that?” He pointed at one of Harry's held books. “I need to study about Potions and I’m not planning to fight with you in the vicinity of this library.”

Harry's heart skipped a beat before he had thoroughly processed Malfoy's words, his face gawking. 

“Oh? This?” Harry plucked the book off the middle of his stacked books and raised it to Draco's face. “I am going to read too.”

Draco arched his brows. “I don’t believe you’d be able to digest what you'd read from there, Potter.”

“Watch me.”

“ _May_ I have the book, Potter?” he asked, splaying his palm impatiently.

Even if Malfoy used polite terms in speaking, he’d still sound sarcastic and insulting. Harry sighed and decided he should leave.

“Bye.” Harry dismissed himself, then went ahead to an empty table. He propped the books in front of him and splayed the _Defense Against the Dark Arts Volume Six_ book first since it was the subject he was best at. He had plans to really, _really_ study, and he didn’t want to be interfered by Malfoy.

He started reading, flattening the papers first before he flipped the pages timidly. He scanned first the table of content before going to page 127. Then, he began reading.

He thought for a moment he lost himself in the book since this really was his favorite subject. Upon reaching the 134th page, he realized he wasn’t alone, and was accompanied by someone who was sitting just across him – and he recognized the sick flowery fragrance. Harry’s eyes widened.

“The hell with _you,_ Malfoy,” Harry said, clenching his fist. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t know if Draco was playing with him, but he didn’t want to be made fun of while studying. However, Draco's eyes remained trained on Harry’s book without showing any signs of being distracted, and that alone made Harry's nook and cheeks burn. This was happening so frequently that Harry needed to rethink his decisions.

“I’m here to study,” Draco answered. “I believe you have the Potions book I wanted to read the most.”

Harry gritted his teeth. Malfoy could look uninterested if he wanted to, and that was unfair because Harry couldn’t do the same. Harry was, as always, above expressive.

“You want it so badly?” he asked, trying to look at his book again and read. Harry would admit, Malfoy was better at things he wasn’t good at, and that included patience in reading, brewing and almost everything academic-related that did not require physical strength.

“Yes, and I’m trying my best not to Hex you. Now please let me read the book I wanted, then I’d leave.”

Harry groaned. “You know we can share, right.”

“ _Share_ .” Draco snorted and crossed his arms, disbelief written on his curved lips. “I can’t even _stand_ your presence. Why would I share with you?”

Harry was getting more and more pissed the seconds passed. He looked at Madam Pince for a second before he answered, “I _need_ to pass our examinations, and you don’t even have to study that much because you’re already smart.”

For the first time, Harry witnessed something he didn’t know he’d see. Malfoy _chuckled_ , eyes squinting as he lets out a careless laugh that seemed unconsciously given.

“God, Potter. You really _suck_ ,” Draco said in between his laugh. “You’re such an idiot.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he desperately wanted the floor to chew him up. His vibrantly reddened face turned darker and the air felt hotter. Malfoy was playing with him.

“Thank you for always pointing out I'm stupid, Malfoy. I’m just not good at Potions.”

“Don't you ask Granger for help?” Draco asked.

Harry was actually having a conversation with Malfoy, and it felt awkward. He looked at everything except at Malfoy’s eyes. He answered anyway, “I don’t ask for her help because she’s always busy.”

“Open the Potions book.”

“What?”

Draco arched his brow before he settled both of his hands on the table, as if preparing for a one-on-one talk with an illiterate.

“Our last lesson was about extracting remnants of moisture from dead magical creatures in rigor mortis,” Draco explained. “ I believe it's on Page 190, chapter seventeen on the top right corner of the left page, second paragraph, below the introduction. Now open the book.”

Harry's heart thrummed, though obediently did what was told. He thought Malfoy looked rather professional when he was being serious. Draco could be a really good Potions teacher someday.

Harry realized he stared at Malfoy too much after he’d done the said order and didn’t amiss the pink hue that he saw pooled on Draco's cheek. Harry swiveled his head down and stared with intent at the book, feeling his stomach bursting sparks and butterflies. _I shouldn’t have stared at his face too much._

“Why are you helping me study?” Harry asked, diverting the awkwardness. He couldn’t face nor talk to Malfoy properly and he didn’t know why. 

“I'm _not_ helping you,” Draco said. “You’ve tended to me when I was stabbed so I'm doing this. I don’t want to feel like I'm indebted, especially to you.”

Harry nodded and returned his head on the book. His heart clenching upon hearing Malfoy's statement. He shouldn’t have asked after all. Waving off all his buzzing thoughts, he gave his ears to Malfoy's lecture instead, which went pretty smoothly.

He didn’t only lend his ears, he also scribbled down notes on his paper. He sat there, eyes on Malfoy, every word and every definition comprehendible by his brain – it was as if Malfoy purposely made it easy for Harry to understand. His method of teaching was student-friendly, and the way he spoke said his mastery of the area was well-developed. When Harry didn’t get a definition for the first time, Malfoy makes sure he explains it in another way Harry would. It was a productive afternoon and Harry learned a lot.

“Did you get all that?” Malfoy asked after his lecture, using the underside of his palm to rest his chin. Harry nodded, skimming his scribbles of notes one by one with a satisfied smile. He really understood the lesson and he couldn’t believe Malfoy was the one who made it possible.

“Thank you very much,” Harry said, with sincerity in his tone. “I didn’t know it was easier to understand when it’s taught that way to me. Snape barely slows down when he teaches.” Harry slipped his note between his notebook and threw it in his satchel, able to say he was prepared for tomorrow's Potions exam. His shoulders relaxed and he took a moment to stretch his limbs.

“It's because Snape hated slow learners, Potter. He ensures they suffer in his hands. Now it shows who those snail-brained students are. You, included.”

Harry was supposed to be irritated of the statement but instead, he laughed and didn’t control it, though not loud enough to startle Madam Pince. Malfoy blinked at him slowly before he hissed.

“How _dare_ you laugh at me,” Draco said, though the usual finesse of his voice wasn’t completely there, he rather said it in confusion. Harry never knew this side of Malfoy. The blond was being ludicrous without his own awareness, and Draco's reactions were always serious right after. Harry silently hoped he could see his face being carefree, being himself.

“I’m just saying you would be a great Potions master if you pursue it,” Harry said.

Draco's cheeks turned beet red promptly, but he didn’t look like he welcomed the feeling of it. So, the blond huffed and raised his chin, back to his default self.

“I’m going to study somewhere quiet where there is none of you. Good riddance,” Draco said and stood up, gathering all of his things and grabbed ahold of the Potions book. _Wait._

“Malfoy.” Harry unconsciously pressed the book down, preventing Malfoy from getting it.

Draco’s mouth parted, watching Harry’s hand that was so near his fingers, eyes all widened. He didn’t expect it perhaps, so was Harry. “What now, Potter? Didn’t you understand the lessons enough?”

Harry didn’t know why he did it, but he felt his hand had gone cold. He released the book, letting Draco get it, but he persisted with what he wanted to say. It was now or never, and mostly he desired for Malfoy to open up to him.

“I want to ask you something,” he said, clenching his fist and puffed his chest up.

Malfoy tensed and stepped back one foot away from the table, furrowing his eyebrows, as if waiting for his cue to run, obviously wanting to dodge a topic he might had an idea what. Harry was unfazed of it and stepped right in front of him, looming over despite Draco being an inch taller. He could always do this, because when it comes to their ego, Harry would always try to supersede him.

“Your stab last week.” Harry drew in a deep breath before he asked away. “Your stab last week was self-inflicted, am I right?”

They stared at each other's eyes for a moment and Harry tried finding answers from Draco’s grey pupils, seeking, giving help yet he was being badly resisted, and Harry's heart trembled with pain. Malfoy obviously didn’t want to show himself. Draco kept his guard up and stepped further away from him.

Without another word, Draco fled out of the library with all of his things and Harry's adrenaline instantaneously reacted, calling Malfoy's name and continued trotting behind the blond. Thanks to his leg muscles he developed over the course of continuous Quidditch practice, he was able to catch the pace of Malfoy's longer strides.

Harry kept calling his name and his heart was beating rapidly, sweat trickling down his forehead, making sure Draco was in his line of sight. Slightly bubbling with anger, Harry dashed like his life depended on it and successfully clasped on Malfoy's shoulder. He turned the boy around, yanked him, and pinned him to the wall, causing the books in Malfoy's grasp to fall upon the ground. Harry panted, sweat-licked from exertion and held Malfoy's shoulders steadily, squeezing it.

“Why would you fucking stab yourself,” Harry said and plucked his wand off his pocket, training it on Malfoy's chin. “Is it because of the Death Eaters? _Your_ mark? What is it?”

Harry kept panting and he lowered his chin to catch his breath properly, still had a handful of Malfoy's front shirt.

“You.” Draco's eyes were wide and shaking and Harry had the same expression written on his face. “How much do you know?”

His voice was low and a few goosebumps had prodded out from Harry's skin, making his nape tingle. He attempted pushing Malfoy on the wall again, nose flaring.

“I saw your mark. I know everything.” Harry panted and gasped when Malfoy’s hand had pressed on his neck, constricting Harry from breathing. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and the shaking of his pupils said he was extremely triggered.

“Everything?” Draco pushed him next successful of making Harry tip backward three steps away. “You don’t know the half of my suffering, Potter! I’m so sorry but you need to shut up.”

Harry was caught off guard and before he had the chance to blink and recover, Malfoy's fist had already landed on his cheek, making his jaw, again, crunch.

So this was it. He won’t be able to juice further information about Malfoy's wound.

Without realizing, Harry had already stood from the ground and threw Malfoy his blow, wind whishing and knuckles dully aching after. Blood dribbled down Draco's chin and without attempting to wipe it, he limped forward and kicked Harry's stomach with his shin. They continued punching, kicking and pushing each other until Harry felt his knees suddenly freezed, causing him to tip back onto the ground. Malfoy flopped beside him next, in the same state as Harry – lips dampened with blood and jaw either colored a hue of red transitioning to violet. 

“Thirty points from Slytherin and Gryffindor,” Harry heard a voice said and he knew whom it was. He closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. 

“You two are known role models of this school, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy.” Professor McGonagall loomed over them. “A Quidditch Captain and a Slytherin Prefect fighting like children? I should’ve taken more points beyond thirty!”

First, Harry stretched his legs before he massaged his thumb on his heels as he sat in McGonagall's office alongside Malfoy on a couch, aware of their close proximity but too occupied thinking about their punishment. The professor offered both of them tea and cookies, but Harry was sure his appetite was forestalled by her intent stare so he didn’t get one. Harry was ashamed since he was the one who provoked the row between he and Malfoy.

Professor McGonagall looked at them for an intense second before she scribbled something on a piece of parchment, handing it to Malfoy after.

“That is the password to my office's trophy room. That also means detention at six in the evening. You will clean the entire trophy room and not allowed to go out unless the room was left spotless.”

Both of them gazed sharply at each other for a moment before nodding at the professor simultaneously, almost reluctantly.

“Do not close the trophy room’s door,” she added, “or you won’t be able to go out unless someone from outside opens it.”

They were dismissed afterwards and left the office together. Harry's heart was heavy once again, for a reason he couldn’t pinpoint and it annoyed him so. He thought he was going to get Malfoy to open up, yet he failed to even act _nicely_ for his sake. 

_Say something._

“Malfoy,” he called, then tugged on Draco's shirt hem.

When Malfoy swiveled around to look at him, Harry stood frozen for a moment, mind swirling with questions such as, ‘Why did I do that?’ He realized he didn’t spat an apology and instead said, “You're right, Malfoy. I don’t know everything about your situation and I wish I knew.”

Harry looked down and continued, heart as heavy as it could get. He didn’t even know wht he was doing this. “I won’t stop bugging you until I know why you stabbed yourself.”

“Do you worry about me?” Draco asked, staring at Harry's hand on him.

Harry tilted his head up and looked at Malfoy, eyes widening and not expecting for Malfoy to ask the question. _Worry?_

Malfoy was crossing his arms and the cool and cold look on his eyes was there as well, calm and nonchalant, irritatingly fine _._ Harry didn’t look away from it, though somewhere at the back of his head, he thought he might have been worried of him, but he couldn’t tell Malfoy that.

“I am not worried of you,” he said instead, knowing it was an utter lie. He watched Draco’s face slowly darken until he vanished off running away from Harry's sight.

*****

Five minutes before six, Harry went ahead to Professor McGonagall's office in his pyjamas. He didn’t talk to anyone in the course of the afternoon (since he stayed at the Hospital Wing for hours, getting his bruises tended) and finished his assignments in the Common Room. Harry didn’t eat his dinner despite Ron and Hermione forcing him to come to the hall either. He wasn’t in the mood to do anything after the incident with Malfoy, nor tell anyone about it.

He felt rejected for an unknown reason and it churned in his gut for almost a day. Why would Malfoy have to be so obstinate like that?

Upon arrival at Professor McGonagall’s office, he said the password and pushed the door briskly. He stepped forward and had let the cold and dim room envelop him, closing the door behind.

As soon as he flickered his eyes in front, he saw Malfoy's blond head at the far side of the room holding a book, flipping the pages with his index finger. He was wearing an expensive-looking green silk pyjamas which made him look more slender than he is. His posh appearance could never compare to the rugged look Harry had while wearing his baggy pyjamas he got from his cousin Dudley in first year. Draco always stood out with this blond hair of his, attractive without even trying. It pissed Harry so much.

When Draco seemed to have seen Harry from his peripheral vision, he turned around. Harry's heart tumbled as he locked contact with him, stomach still whirling about the afternoon's incident. He didn’t know what to say or act, but gladly, Draco was the one who dissolved the silence first.

“You go fetch the pail and cloth from the cabinet and I’ll go get the detergent, these are all what we need,” Draco said blandly.

Harry only nodded and did what was told, first rolling the hem of his pyjama bottoms up his shin and sleeves up his elbows to start working.

And with the same password as the office door, Harry pushed the trophy room open. The two of them coughed as fogs of dusts ghosted out from the inside. Harry held his breath for a moment and outstretched his hand inside to find the switch for the bulb. When he found it, light flooded the room which revealed a very dusty room full of stoppering trophies and crawling spiders. 

“A night won’t be enough to clean this,” Harry said, covering his nose as the smell of something-dead creature wafted through his nostril. He realized it was a dumb statement since he knew well they weren’t muggles who needed something too physical to clean the room. They had wands.

Draco glared at Harry first, as if saying he was stupid, before peering his head inside the door. Harry flinched and instinctively stepped sideways to stay away from Malfoy's personal space.

Draco looked at Harry again and he, caught off guard and generally awkward still, stiffened on his place. He didn’t like it when Draco does something unexpected.

“Well? What are you waiting for, Potter. Christmas? Get in.”

Harry moved before his brain processed what was said. Draco followed right after, shutting the door behind them.

And they’ve started cleaning diligently. Neither of them spoke to each other unless their exchange of dialogues was cleaning-related. Malfoy spelled the cloths to clean the trophies one by one with an articulate swing of his wrist while Harry did all the organization, placing the trophies in the shelves one by one.

From time to time, Harry would catch Draco looking at him, which was odd, but he chose to deliberately act he didn’t know it, neglecting the warmth of his cheeks. Since the space of the room was tremendously narrowed from all the clattered stuffs, their shoulders would brush every time they’d exchange areas, and their eyes would land upon each other accidentally. It kept happening until they finished cleaning the trophy room that it drove Harry's mind to madness. He couldn’t stand being quiet, he couldn’t stand the silence when he knew well he wasn’t alone.

They wiped their sweat off their faces first and spelled their clothes dry. Though Harry's heart wouldn’t calm down. It kept pounding, ordering Harry to talk to Malfoy, to address about what happened this afternoon.

Harry gulped, swallowing the remnants of his embarrassment before he called Malfoy. When Malfoy turned around, he exploded.

“Malfoy, I’m sorry for what happened this afternoon,” he said, with no time to breathe. “I have no rights to interfere with your personal problems, I have no control over my emotions in general, I didn’t think of your feelings.”

After, he stepped back to inhale and looked at Malfoy, a nervous sweat trickling down Harry's forehead. He saw crystal clear that Malfoy's eyes widened, as if not expecting for Harry to apologize. As for Harry, he bit his lower lip, desperately wanting to break eye contact but he couldn’t. He wanted to let Malfoy see he was genuinely sorry.

When he heard no response from the blond, he was too quick to fill in the silence. “I know, I was wrong to assume your stab was self-inflicted. Sorry about that too.”

Harry looked down this time, clenching his fist. A bit discouraged from Draco's silence. 

“You know what Potter,” he finally responded. “I don’t know what to do, really – with you doing your silly mind games.”

Harry’s brow creased. He didn’t remember telling nor thinking this was some mind game. 

“I'm not toying with you,” Harry said, and Draco flinched.

“I accept your apology. But kindly stop the rest of your ulterior motives. What I mean is, don’t do _this._ Don’t associate yourself with me nor ever engage in a _friendly_ talk with me. I take none of your concern and – “

Draco swiveled his head away from him before finishing his sentence.

“ – I don’t need you.”

Harry squinted, feeling needles poking his heart. It didn’t make sense why he felt it at all.

“What are you saying?” Harry stepped forward, almost cornering Malfoy on a shelf. “I want to help you, Malfoy, if that’s not obvious. We could fight. We could defeat the Dark Lord, with you on the good side. To put an end to your suffering.”

They stared intensely at each other for awhile, bewildered grey upon the hopeful green before Malfoy had snapped out of it by blinking, glaring at Harry right after.

“What ‘stay out of my life' don’t you understand?” 

Before Harry realized it, a numbing sensation ran through his cheek as Draco's knuckles met his jaw, slightly lighter than the blow he threw this afternoon. Harry was unfazed. In fact, he was ignited to persuade Malfoy even more.

“You want to fight the Dark Lord, don’t you? I can feel it too,” Harry said and stood up again, stepping a determined foot forward. “Why won’t you admit you hate your life?”

That’s when Harry realized he said too much.

Draco's lips trembled, and Harry's heart sank as he stared at him guiltily, waiting for Draco's answer.

“I’m leaving.” Draco pivoted around towards the door and Harry didn’t stop him. He hunkered down and propped himself down the floor, pressing his back on one of the shelves. He closed his eyes, deciding he should rest before leaving but he jolted back to wake when a sound of a foot kicking a door startled him.

He opened his eyes to see Malfoy standing there, wrestling the door open. Whatever this was, it had temporary forestalled the tension between them.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, speculating the door along with Malfoy.

“It won’t open! I tried spelling it yet it's still like this.” Draco persisted to continuously twist the knob and kick again and again.

“How about I try?”

“No. I did all the advanced procedures of unlocking doors, I did out-of-class spells too, but this won’t simply budge.”

As if a lightning had struck Harry, he remembered being reminded by McGonagall they shouldn’t close the door or they wouldn’t be able to get out. Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, striding back the farthest corner of the room and flopped down the floor, wading himself upon the cold wooden plank and closed his eyes, propping his head on his palm.

“Hey, what are you doing? We can’t stay here, Potter. Kick the door too!”

“No,” Harry insisted. “Leave it. We were reminded not to close the door this afternoon but we both forgot about it. Sleep it out and we’ll get out of here alive by tomorrow.”

The brief silence meant Draco must’ve remembered it as well. “Wait… No, no, no, you _don’t_ understand. You of all people should know being contained in a room with someone you hate is torture.”

Harry yawned. “Just sleep it out, I say. I don’t like being with you either, but nothing would change if we whine, wouldn’t it? You’re wasting time kicking.”

Draco groaned and Harry closed his eyes again, curling inwardly to keep warm, attempting to sleep. Draco didn’t complain anymore, or at least Harry's tired-induced body said he should ignore whatever Draco was complaining about. He remained still for how many minutes and instinctively rolled himself to face the other side, seeking comfort, only to feel a knee bump on his nose. He flicked his eyes open, finding Malfoy sitting beside him, hugging his legs together, shaky eyes trained on the small window that showed little moonlight from the outside.

Harry's cheeks warmed when he realized Malfoy was no farther than four inches from him. Harry didn’t move, instead, he kept his eyes fixed on Malfoy. After a few seconds, the blond finally noticed Harry looking at him, horror washing his face.

“Why the _hell_ are you still awake?”

“You don't seem alright,” Harry said, voice a little cracked and Malfoy swiveled his head away, coiling further to himself.

“I'm perfectly fine, thanks.”

“Even a mouse could tell you’re not.”

Draco groaned. “Can you _please_ shut up and sleep, Potter? Being locked is the worst, let alone with your enemy.”

Harry scoffed. “Why are you so close to me then if you hate me that much?”

Draco’s ears reddened, cursing and burying his head on his palm. Harry sighed and stared at the blond, who was trembling and looked like on the verge of hyperventilating. Knowing Malfoy’s ego, even if he was on the brink of dying, he wouldn’t ask for Harry's help. This wasn’t something to tease about, Harry thought. Draco seemed genuinely scared coiling like a cat like this. He wanted to ask what caused it but he didn’t want to brew up another fight with Malfoy.

He decided to ignore Draco for a few minutes since he said so, attempting to get a good sleep yet Draco won’t stop whimpering and heaving. Harry groaned and sat up again.

“Malfoy, look at me,” he called, tentatively outstretching his hand and held on Draco's shoulder, who jolted upon contact. The blond looked up and Harry's eyes widened when he saw Draco's pupils, all shaky and glazed from crying. Draco pressed his palms together again to cover his face.

_Malfoy, he's genuinely scared isn’t he?_

Harry knew how it feels to be traumatized; but Harry had overcame his own trauma. 

Harry sighed, sympathy tugging on his belly. At this point, it didn’t matter if they were enemies. Malfoy needed someone at the moment.

Harry, swallowing his dignity, enveloped his left hand around him, pulling Malfoy towards himself and petted the soft blond mane with hesitant fingers. He waited for Malfoy to pummel him, to struggle out of his grasp, and kick him but he didn’t.

The sweet fragrance released by Malfoy's hair wafted to Harry’s nose that he had to swivel his head away from it. The calm and chilly night was direly in contrast from what Harry was feeling within. _And that is, I am absurdly freaking out._

He hitched his breath when Malfoy removed his own hands out of his face, revealing his feverish-looking eyes. Harry's fingers unconsciously dug on Malfoy's back.

“Again, when bad things happen to me, somehow you're always there to either make it worse or make me feel irritated,” was all he heard Draco mutter. Though the blond didn’t remove his head from the crook of Harry's neck, nor slapped Harry's fingers that were caressing his hair. He stayed and remained pliant.

Harry drew in a deep breath, uncomfortable from the contact. "Well, bear with it, Malfoy. It's just for a night. Consider yourself lucky since you have someone to comfort you.”

Draco stayed silent for awhile, but it seemed that his curiosity got the best of him since he tilted his head up to look at Harry.

“Have you experienced being locked before?”

Harry puckered his lips, stared at Malfoy’s curious eyes before answering with bitterness. “Yes, when I was younger, my aunt and uncle would lock me up in a cupboard when I do something that irritates them. They won’t let me eat for a whole day too. I would cry nonstop then I’d talk to my figurines until I'm fine.” 

Draco's mouth parted. “Cupboard? That’s preposterous. Why would they – ”

“Yes, the cupboard, my long-term bedroom. I don’t want to elaborate, but you can imagine what I look like in there.”

Draco fidgeted, and sank lower in Harry’s arms. He probably didn’t know what to respond. “I always thought you lived in buoyancy and luxury. I meant you held ‘The Golden Boy’ title since you were born. The Daily Prophet always made you look so heroic and special.”

Harry snorted, mostly by the fact Draco had read him from The Daily Prophet and believed all it said. 

“You thought my life was perfect just because I was The-Boy-Who-Lived?” Harry shook his head. “That's where you're wrong. I never figured out I was a wizard ‘til I reached my 11th birthday. My muggle family treated me like I was some vermin. Though I never asked for people's sympathy, that’s why as much as possible, my true life story was never written on the papers. I never shared them.”

Draco squinted and looked away, brows creased. “Why are you telling me those personal things then. Aren’t you bothered I might use it against you? You don’t know what I could do to ruin your life. I'm a Malfoy.”

Harry looked at him and curved his lips up a bit, amused. For a moment, he thought Draco was embarrassed. “Because this was what I might wanted when I was locked up in that cupboard, to feel someone hugging me, to feel someone warming me up until it’s over, talking me out of my anxiety. I figured out this might be what you wanted too.”

Draco didn’t respond anymore and they remained in that position for a seemingly interminable night and surprisingly comfortable silence: sitting together, with Draco curling to his side, listening to the sound of the calm blow of the wind from the outside, staring at the twinkling stars together outside the small window. Harry's eyelids were starting to droop, completely sated despite knowing Malfoy was the one in his arms. Harry yawned after, snuggling closer to Malfoy who seemed to have fallen asleep first, comfortably pressing his head on Harry’s chest. 

He looked down for a second, watched Draco hum in his slumber, so peaceful and innocent-looking, as if he wasn’t capable of doing the most nefarious things a student could do to a schoolmate. His unkempt blond hair had softened the look of his pointy face too and Harry could imagine him self-loathing if Malfoy found out his hair was disarrayed like this. 

His eyes went farther down, landing on the slightly parted thin lips of Malfoy's. He gulped, remembering exactly how it felt on him, how soft it was, and how it moved that drove him to madness.

Shrugging the thought off, he closed his eyes, letting the side of his head rest atop Draco's own nook. He found their state ridiculous, but at that ridiculous moment, he wished that he and Malfoy won’t have to get on each other's throat all the time.

He found himself smiling, before sleep had dawned upon him and lost his consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry slumped his face on the table, ignoring the soft bickering of the students having breakfast along with his morning porridge Ron pushed towards his direction. The bags under his eyes increased in size and hue since he had to review for their practical tests in Potions, Charms and Transfiguration all night long through the course of a busy week. It was effective somehow, since his grades had gotten better.

But it also meant sacrificing his sleep and nourishment. His body was bone-deep tired yet Hermione insisted he should keep up his good work. Harry overworked himself these days like her, only because he was desperate to be distracted from his real concern.

Draco, who had deliberately avoided him after the night they were stuck in the trophy room together, kept manifesting his mind. When he had woken up that time last week, he was already in his dorm at six in the morning, all of his roommates asleep, with no knowledge who brought him back. McGonagall didn’t tell him anything that following day.

So, he and Malfoy avoided each other, as always, but it was different. Malfoy wouldn’t meet his eyes, he didn’t Hex Harry anymore like the usual, and he was too quick to vanish from Harry's sight whenever they see each other at the corridor. Something was off. It was as if Malfoy was pretending Harry wasn’t existing.

He groaned remembering Draco's name alone and shoved a spoonful of hot rice porridge in his mouth. He’s supposed to feel better Malfoy was avoiding him, not attempting to fight with him, yet his brain was opposing with his heart. He couldn’t calm down at all.

“Mate,” Ron said, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. “You’re spacing out.”

Harry sighed this time, head whirling around towards the Slytherin table, then peered at Malfoy and Pansy eating their breakfast. The blond seemed to be doing fine on his own, except he wasn’t laughing along with whatever Parkinson had said that made the whole table throw a laughing fit.

Harry squinted, watching Draco chew his toast ever so slowly. 

He was wrong. Draco wasn’t fine.

After all of Harry's classes were finished, he decided he should talk to Pansy Parkinson with no particular reason why since his instinct was the one which decided for him. If Malfoy wouldn’t tell him a piece of information about his self-inflicted stab and his sudden avoidant disposition, maybe one of his friends could.

He stood outside Charms classroom, back propped on the wall beside the door and eyed everyone who went out, waiting for Parkinson or Zabini. When a group of Slytherins came out next, he saw Draco among them and craned his neck if Pansy and Blaise were too, but they weren’t. After a few more students fled out, one of them finally popped out of the door.

“Parkinson,” Harry called, her sick minty sweet scent wafting through his nose. “Could we talk?”

Pansy stood there, face gawking for awhile before she nodded. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. 

“My, my, of course, Potter. I expected this.” She smiled. “Shall we go to the Slytherin Common Room? Don’t worry, my co-Slytherins don’t like being settled in the Common Room, they prefer being in their rooms.”

Harry blinked. _She expected this? What does that mean?_ Without raising a complaint, Harry nodded and sauntered with Parkinson side by side away from the sea of students. He wasn’t scared to talk to Parkinson since she was easy to get along with compared to her other classmates. 

Upon arrival at the Slytherin Common Room, Pansy flopped herself down the green sofa while Harry sat opposite of her. The place was familiar since Harry had been here. It was covered in dark shade of green, the fireplace at the other side of the wall warming up the seemingly chilly place. In general, the Slytherin Common Room looked like it was made for posh and poised students.

“Alright Potter,” Parkinson said, removing her robe and propped it on her lap. “Make yourself at home. Tell me what’s the matter.”

Harry unconsciously fixed his glasses and then stared at the fireplace first before answering. “It’s... about Malfoy.”

“Oh, glorious.”

Harry swiveled his head up to Parkinson with eyes widening. “Excuse me?”

Pansy grinned and waved her hands, signaling Harry to continue. “Go on, Potter. I have all afternoon.”

Harry coughed awkwardly before continuing. “So anyways, I have a strong feeling that his stab last week was self-inflicted. When I asked Malfoy about it, we ended up being in detention.”

“Ah.”

“And,” Harry's fists clenched on his legs, “I was wondering if you knew the reason behind it? I was the one who tended to him in the Hospital Wing and… found out he was self-harming. That’s my hypothesis actually, why I thought he stabbed himself. He was scared too when he was locked in the trophy room with me, and I’m sure I wasn’t the main reason why he looked so traumatized like that.”

Harry bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, not sure if his statement made any sense. When he opened his eyes, he saw Parkinson looking at the fireplace, as if lost in it. Her usual charming face was replaced with utter fear and worry. It caught Harry off guard.

And Harry knew at that moment, Pansy was the right person to answer to all of his questions.

“Don’t tell Draco I told you this, but I know you’re trustworthy. You’re worried of him, aren’t you?”

Harry flinched and flushed, eyes looking down. “Yes, I think I am.”

Pansy chuckled, sighing comfortably afterwards. “Alright, Potter. It’s a common knowledge here for all the Slytherins that Draco Malfoy is an unsociable man despite his childish disposition in a daily basis – behind that mask, he’s a lot deeper than what you know.”

“I figured,” Harry said.

“Of course you figured.” Pansy coughed before continuing. “And I guess you figured too, that I am the only person Draco could talk to aside from Zabini. As I’ve said, he's unsociable. His mother and father hadn’t talked to him for a year already for a reason I can’t tell. He would cry on my lap all day long during the weekends, not muttering a single word about what his problem was to me. He would cry like a kid, until it stops, then that’s it. He’d leave and act like it was all fine once again. I guess sometimes he tends to run away from his frustrations by fighting with you.” Pansy paused for a moment and smiled at Harry. “Draco isn’t the type to spill all of his problems through talking, Potter. He prefers writing it all in his diary, allowed to be read only by me or Zabini. And that is my limit, Potter. I am not allowed to share you everything. About his fear of being locked, I don’t know about it.”

Harry frowned. “I understand, I’m sorry for asking.”

Pansy chuckled. “Don't be sorry. Not all the time he’s depressed. There are _things_ that makes him happy, _things_ that distracts him from those problems.”

“Is this _thing_ something I could offer Malfoy?”

Pansy laughed this time, shaking her head that reminded Harry of a tickled cat. “You’re offering it to him all the time. I’ll be honest with you. These days, it seems that you’ve offered something that made him more depressed this time.”

Harry's eyes even widened further, getting more confused. “Me? I _made_ him more depressed? I caused him to hurt himself?”

“No, no, no, Potter.” She waved her hands frantically. “You’re only a factor, but you don’t take the entire part. That means you’re not the whole cause. As I’ve said, Draco is a deep person. You think he’d attempt to suicide all because of you?”

“I,” Harry coughed, “no, I suppose not and I _hope_ not.”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

Harry swiveled his head up and stared at her, gawking and cheeks heating up. He didn’t even know what to respond. He certainly wanted to talk to Malfoy but –

“He's clearly avoiding me as of the moment,” Harry said. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”

Pansy snorted, which sounded oddly not insulting. “No.”

“I hope you can elaborate that for me.”

“That means Draco will elaborate it for you once you approach him. You know, just talk to him. Explain your motives so he won’t take you, starting a conversation, as a premonition.”

Harry chuckled. He was wrong about Parkinson being a trouble. She was like Hermione, but a lot more carefree and hyper. On top of that, a very reliable friend Draco could trust.

“Thank you, Parkinson.”

“No problem, Potter. If there’s one thing you want to know. I can assure you Draco doesn’t at all hate you.”

*****

Draco cracked his neck and knuckles, then wiggled his shoulder until he relaxed on his desk, preparing to do his assignments until midnight. He was wearing his silk dressing gown atop his pyjamas, since it was a chilly night. His roommates were fast asleep, and only he loved studying late at night. He turned on his lamp and trained his eyes upon his desk, ready to write his essays for Potions and History of Magic.

Although his quill was already on top of his parchment, he couldn’t write a single letter.

_Potter._

He made a face, gripping his quill tighter. It was as if Potter was purposely boggling his mind. His stupid circle spectacles, annoyingly plump limps and unruly hair – he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Draco groaned, hating himself.

For a week, he managed to successfully dodge Potter from talking to him, though he knew not all the time, since Potter was known to be persistent. It was obvious the Gryffindor didn’t want to leave him alone despite everything. 

Perhaps, mostly, it was Draco’s ego overreacting. Potter had cuddled him to slumber – and that he was upset about, that he was comfortable being wrapped by the Gryffindor arms of his while panicking. Draco's stomach churned unpleasantly.

About to write Draco's first word on his paper, someone's head popped in front of his vision, causing him to tip backwards instinctively. He sighed, closing his eyes. 

“Pansy, I would appreciate it if you announce your arrival instead of sneaking like a cat in my dorm,” he said, sitting back to his chair with scrunched eyebrows. Pansy should really stop this bad habit of hers. 

“Sorry.”

He swiveled his head to look at her. She looked surprisingly serious. “What are you apologizing for?” he asked.

“Oh come on. I know you heard the conversation between me and Potter,” she said. “I saw you hiding behind a shelf, you were listening to us.”

Draco stiffened, turning his head away from her again. “Oh, that. It was nothing. You and your _big_ mouth couldn’t help telling him a part of me so it couldn’t be helped.”

“Fine, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I’m sorry.” Pansy sat on Draco's bed and rested her chin on the underside of her palm. “He sounded so worried. If you’ve seen his face while he said those words, you would like to kiss that lips of his in that moment.”

Draco felt his heart pound inexplicably. Silly girl, always intruding with his business. “Pansy, really, this isn’t the time to talk about Potter. I’m studying.”

“No. You _are_ talking to him, or I'd yank you out of this castle so you couldn’t take your N.E.W.T.s next year.”

Draco sighed, turning around to glare at her. “Why are you being so persistent about Potter? When I don’t want to, then I don’t want to.”

“Do you really? Things are about to turn around for you and Potter. There’s _something_ forming in this situation and I’m nurturing it.”

Draco snorted. He knew what _something_ Parkinson meant, and he didn’t want to entertain it. He held his temple, not really interested in partaking in the conversation.

“Not wishing for it to happen like a bereft fucker, Pansy.”

“Look, Draco,” Pansy's voice lowered, and Draco figured this was serious. “I am your friend and what did you expect me to react after harming yourself? You can’t prevent me from doing something for your happiness. I'd interfere if I have to, and I saw Potter eager to help you like I do.”

Draco stared at the window for a moment, crossing his arms. His eyes softened seeing a couple of owls having their night flight, free and flying with no worries. He was slightly jealous perhaps, that these owls didn’t have blocks of responsibilities stacked on their backs. He looked at Pansy again, biting his lower lip. “Sorry for worrying you too much. I wasn’t thinking that time. I regret stabbing myself. But must you have to force me upon Potter?”

Pansy smiled, which deemed affectionate. “I want you to try what _you_ want this time, Draco. Potter is genuinely concerned. And you avoid him he says? I think you never mentioned that you were trapped in a trophy room with him, nor written it in your diary.”

Draco rolled his eyes, though the blushing of his face was not caused by the chilly night. He couldn’t lie to Parkinson. She knew every twitch and quirk of his facial expressions, and she knew what he _wanted_.

“Not all the time you have to know everything.”

“I know,” she answered, sighing. Draco shot her a subtle apologetic look. He wasn’t eloquent enough to explain his feelings in the first place, especially when they have to talk about _this._

“I trust you and Blaise more than anyone else. So trust me on this too,” Draco said. “I’m still thinking if I should continue _this_ or not. I’m exhausted.”

Pansy huffed. “Potter doesn’t know yet, of course you won’t be so sure.”


	6. Chapter 6

“How’s your Malfoy business?”

Harry stared at the red ceiling, mostly avoiding the blinding light of the newly-risen sun, his feet tapping violently on the carpeted floor of the Gryffindor Common Room. He looked at Hermione and Ron, then vented out his frustrations and disturbance about yesterday's encounter with Parkinson as clipped as he managed. He didn’t include the bits about Malfoy’s warm body around him while they were in the trophy room. _These ludicrous thoughts should not be entertained after all._

“… then that’s it,” Harry continued his story, face reddening as he recalled the flashing memories of last week’s events. “It went alright talking to Parkinson.”

“Do you want to talk to Malfoy that badly?” asked Ron again. “It seems that Parkinson has gotten through your head so much that your urge to talk to Malfoy grew. You know I never approved of your antics.”

Harry flinched, his face warmer, now all the way down his neck. Harry thought he didn’t make sense either even though he knew it was best to leave the situation be. Despite all of it, he remained persistent, to the point (he thought) Malfoy decided to avoid him. All the overthinking made Harry’s stomach wilt in stress.

He bit his lower lip. “I already agreed with Parkinson that I would talk to Malfoy.” Harry looked down upon the floor. “I just don’t know how since he wasn’t the only one who messed up. I did too.” _Probably more than he._

Their talk lasted for an hour more before they prepared for their usual rituals before coming about the Great Hall to engulf their breakfast. 

Harry ate his own portion peacefully, but his mind was a whirlpool of clattered thoughts. Seeing Malfoy alright, smiling and bright along his co-housemates across the hall in such a fine morning boggled Harry’s mind. It was rare of Malfoy to look relaxed like this, mouth curved to display his cheeky smile that seemed unconsciously given.

Harry gritted his teeth, then realized he had slammed the spoon on his porridge too harshly it splattered all over the table and his friends. He heard whines from Ron and Hermione flanking him, wading tissues to wipe the sticky stain of rice off their pyjama tops.

He apologized briefly, then sunk his head down to his chest, wondering what made him this upset of himself. Upset of Malfoy for being this deliberate. Draco Malfoy knew how to play his game and Harry hated it.

Throughout the class session, Harry wasn’t able to calm himself down despite the fact he had successfully avoided Malfoy throughout the course of the afternoon. Harry didn’t pay any attention to History of Magic nor participated in Transfiguration’s weekly recitation. Even he neglected the prompt duel session in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, which was supposed to be his most favorite activity. Lastly, he lost ten points for not paying attention in Potions. For the first time, Harry was madder at himself than Snape for losing points.

Harry sighed, thinking all of his exhaustive activities and failed to cheer himself up.

Sighing, Harry didn’t think twice to pluck off his notebooks from the library table and threw it all in his satchel, extricating himself from his best friends’ company and walked back to his dorm, mostly to introspect and nap off his irritation away. The teachers didn’t leave them any assignments, which was an advantage. Harry wouldn’t have to use an excuse if ever he forgot an assignment to pass the next day.

Though his plan wasn’t as effective. He said he’d sleep his stress off, yet he merely winked a proper nap, exhausting himself by constantly tossing and turning on his bed. His visions linked with Voldemort didn’t leave him alone either.

His afternoon was an utter mess. 

It was almost dinnertime when he remembered he forgot to eat proper breakfast and lunch after hearing the ominous growl of his hollowed stomach. Rubbing his face, with an urge to throw things around, he stood off his bed, trudged across the still-deserted dorm and took a quick shower, donning his pyjamas after and ventured down to eat at the kitchen. Dinnertime was still an hour away – which meant he wouldn’t be able to get some food off the Great Hall yet.

Clutching his stomach, mostly eager to suppress the disturbing growl of it, he walked towards the direction of the kitchen portrait and wobbled as he stepped forward. He figured he was dehydrated too, since a cupful of water barely entered his system for today. He wouldn’t blame anyone for his current state since it was his fault for neglecting his health.

It was then he thought he was finally able to briskly sneak about the kitchen when he saw a familiar figure from the other side of the dim corridor, sauntering towards his direction, eyes trained on the floor with an apple gripped by his right hand. Harry flinched instinctively, eyes squinting. He stepped back from the kitchen portrait and huffed. 

_Malfoy._ It seemed that he hadn’t noticed Harry’s presence yet. 

Harry clenched his fist, standing tall again as he puffed his chest. When Malfoy finally noticed a human presence before him, (an unwanted one), his head tilted up instantaneously. When their eyes met, Harry’s heart galloped. Malfoy’s disposition was cool, composed and nonchalant as always.

Not until he saw Harry. Malfoy's face immediately contorted to a scowl. A specific expression he only showed Harry, as if conveying a language saying he didn’t want to talk to Harry.

“I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.” Draco groaned, crossed his arms and sighed. “I’d _respectfully_ ask you to leave me alone, Potter.”

Harry only stared at Malfoy, sharp and intent. The atmosphere felt like a chilly storm. An inevitable fight brewing gradually, and Harry never turned down any of them.

Why must he be the one who had to leave Malfoy alone?

“This was completely coincidental, and since you’re here, I might as well get on with my words," Harry said, controlling his glare for the sake of his motives. “I talked to Parkinson yesterday.”

Draco arched a brow. When Harry heard no response, he continued. He wasn’t as used to doing confrontations as he thought. “I have no ulterior motives. I want to talk, that’s all. Then after, I’ll leave you alone, for as long as you want.”

He crossed his arms, neglecting again the feeling of intense dizziness pooling in his head caused by not eating and drinking. _This is more urgent. I could eat later._ He finally had the chance to talk to Malfoy and such chance shouldn’t be wasted. He only hoped he wouldn’t get punched like the last time.

“Do as you wish,” Draco responded, then walked passed Harry in a flash, leaving a trail of breeze, taking out the apple out of his pocket again and bit on it, causing the corridor to resonate a loud crunch. Harry’s eyes widened.

Draco smiled, which looked anything but friendly. He peered past his shoulder, stared at Harry and said, “You could talk to me, but I didn’t say during our lifetime. You thought I’d let you revel that easily?”

Harry clicked his tongue, blood simmering beneath his skin. Before he had the chance to respond, Malfoy was already at the end of the corridor, striding across with his fast and long legs. Then, Harry followed Malfoy’s track, his nose flaring. _You are not avoiding me again._ After running and turning past five hallways, his estimation, Harry was already sweat-dampened, chest yearning for oxygen. Malfoy really wanted him to give up, but unfortunately, he was Harry Potter. 

Harry drew in a lungful of air and ran faster, and Malfoy’s figure was merely a meter away from him so there was no reason for Harry to give up now. He outstretched his right arm, hoping to capture Malfoy’s shoulder, and he was successful. He turned Malfoy around and pressed him to a wall, lungs corrupting from tiredness.

“We are getting bolder, aren’t we?” Malfoy said, panting too, but lesser than Harry’s. His other hand squeezed Malfoy’s shoulder, breath barely returning to normal. He momentarily looked around to observe where they were and he realized they were inside the boys’ bathroom, where Malfoy was last found drenched in his own blood. 

Harry, tiredness suddenly hitting him, slowly slumped down the ground, knees first hitting the marbled floor as he held his aching temple, but Harry ignored his bodily complaints again by asking, “Do you need something in return?”

Malfoy gawked at him. Seeing Malfoy wouldn’t answer his question, he added, “I said I wanted to talk, which means you must’ve wanted something in return. Gallions? Knots? A dare? Favor?”

“Five questions.”

Harry tilted his head up, and it was his turn to gawk. He lifted himself in one swift motion and held on a sink, brain still tenderizing itself.

“What?”

“You can ask me five questions.”

Harry squinted. “So what do you want in return?”

“I would think about it later.” 

Harry wanted to read the emotions behind such eyes with the ability to filter the feelings of his heart. Harry had so many questions lined up that five won’t be enough. So then, Harry needed to choose what were those he wanted to ask the most. This was the only chance he got.

Harry sighed and sat down on top of a sink, crossing his arms. Then he reciprocated Draco’s gaze. For an absurd reason, the atmosphere felt odd. It was an atmosphere too calm to be called a storm, but too boggling to be called peaceful. Malfoy was too unpredictable like a ticking time bomb. His eyes were empty, which disconcerted Harry further.

_I will start with something simple._

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

Harry’s fist clenched. The answer was too clipped,it was as if Malfoy wanted the conversation to end as soon as possible. “Could you elaborate that for me?”

Draco sighed and took a moment to bite on his apple. After chewing, he propped his back on the wall, eyes cool and blank. “Let’s see.” He scrunched his brows. “A dolt is forcing me to talk to him inside a bathroom and I have the whole world on my shoulder, in which your nose needn’t poking. It’s so conspicuous yet you wasted two questions for it. Really admirable, Potter.”

Harry turned his head away. “What was the reason you were scared when you were trapped with me in the trophy room?”

“Ask something else.”

“Don’t dodge me.”

Draco glared at him, but answered. “I’m rich, I have an extravagant room back in the Malfoy Manor and I have everything. Being trapped in such a small room is – ”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.” Harry believed it was deeper. Something deep enough to provoke a traumatic event to be remembered.

“I did answer your stupid question, so why complain?” Draco said, eyes laid on anywhere except on Harry.

Seeing that raising an argument over this would be pointless, Harry proceeded with his next question. “Why were you avoiding me?”

Draco groaned. “I was _ignoring_ you, not _avoiding_ you.”

“Oh? That’s not how I saw it.”

“You are a four-eyed dolt. _Of_ _course_ that’s not how you saw it.”

Harry was about to throw his retort when he suddenly slid down the floor, his stomach creating another gurgling sound. His knees felt boneless and his legs’ strength was escaping him. 

“Skipping meals?”

Harry glared, but when he saw Malfoy’s eyes momentarily, almost brimming with surprise, Harry’s heart clenched. It must only be his imagination, or a trick of his own eyes. Harry tried composing himself again (for his ego), standing up but still he kept sliding back down.

“It doesn’t matter if I skip my meals," Harry said, diverting the topic away from himself.

“State your last question then.”

Harry closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “You asked me before if I was worried of you.” Harry crossed his legs and held on to it while Draco’s eyes remained on him. “I told Parkinson yesterday that I was worried. So I thought you wanted to know why I’m being persistent like a dolt you just said.”

“What in God’s name are you blabbering?”

Before Harry saw what was coming, Draco hunkered down and slammed his palm on Harry's chest, pinning him to the wall. His glasses flew along with it, and he whimpered in surprise.

“Stop looking down on me.” He leaned forward, his forehead bumping on Harry’s own forehead. Harry, eyes widening, turned away and pressed the side of his cheek on the wall. This time, Malfoy poked the side of Harry’s face on the wall with his nose. “You don’t play this way with me, Potter. I’m fucked up and you don’t want to be involved. This is a warning.”

Harry’s throat jumped, skin tingling from Malfoy’s breath on the ridge of his ear. “I said I wasn’t playing,” he managed to say, though his voice was all drained out. It was a surprise a sound still came out. “I was worried of you because your value as a human being is valid.”

“Shut up _.”_ Draco’s hand sunk further on Harry’s chest and Harry whimpered. “That’s not what I wanted to hear from you.”

Harry’s face dropped to a frown. “I know, and I know too that you’re desperate to push me away. But really, you can’t make me.”

“You and your Gryffindor arse.”

“Here’s my last question.” Harry gulped. He pushed Malfoy’s face off his for a moment with his palm and stared at Draco’s eyes. He couldn’t decipher what the blank eyes were saying to him, but he wanted to know. Why were these pupils blank and what made it look so emotionless. He wanted to know.

“What do you want?” he asked, closing his eyes. It was only now that his knees shook not because of hunger. His heart was pounding so loudly he couldn’t hear his own thoughts.

“You.”

“What?” Harry’s stomach flipped, mouth gaping open as Malfoy’s fingers held on his chin. “What are you saying – "

Draco drew in a deep breath. “I always wanted to monopolize you, corrupt your system, take your life, fuck you up, torture you and drag you down to an abyss of misery. You. _Just_ everything of you. Is that answer enough?”

Harry shivered, eyes narrowing from the intensity of the atmosphere. It was somehow surprising for him seeing Malfoy being ominous like this. Harry's cheeks were tinted red and he didn’t need to look at a mirror to know. _What is Malfoy saying?_

“What?” he asked, blinking rapidly.

“You are such an easily-swindled fuck.” Draco snaked his hands down Harry’s arms and pinned it both to the wall. “I want to tear you down and make you miserable all your life. That’s what I want.”

 _I see._ “Do you hate me that much?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “We didn’t compromise with adding one more question to your five ones, did we?"

Harry flinched, his eyes shaking uncontrollably. Again, he felt an urge to punch Malfoy on the edge of his knuckles. He shouldn’t have asked. He didn’t understand what was the certain feeling suffusing his chest, but his heart couldn’t stop pounding and pounding . Malfoy was attempting to eat his pride up and Harry was being swindled.

“I understand. I must’ve annoyed you so much.”

“Do you want to eat?”

Harry noncommittally, nodded, plainly defeated. There was no point saving his ego. His head was too light to comprehend the complaints of his own stomach. He couldn’t understand anything. At least, for now, he didn’t want to deal with Malfoy. 

The Slytherin released Harry’s arms and plucked his apple off his pocket. He leaned forward to Harry again and the Gryffindor could only hitch his breath.

“Eat up.”

Draco bit on his apple, sighed and brought his face close to Harry again.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, cheeks pinking from Malfoy’s closeness.

“Can't I?”

Harry felt tired, though he gave his nod and closed his eyes. Shy, flustered, mad and mushed up altogether he couldn't take it.

Malfoy tipped his head forward and gently placed his mouth on Harry’s lips, closing his eyes. It was that exact moment Harry’s world stopped working and knees buckled. He whimpered in surprise, even though he had given his consent, mouth ajar as Malfoy transferred the bite of an apple to his mouth. It tasted sweet. It tasted like Malfoy’s lips. It tasted overwhelming. Harry was sweating all over, and it was the softness of Malfoy’s thin and delectable lips that made him throw the rationality out his mind.

Malfoy’s warm tongue did wonders to his mouth and Harry held on Malfoy’s broad shoulders, chewing the transferred bite of an apple slowly. A moan escaped his dampened lips as Malfoy pressed on him further. He felt fainting any moment and on top of that, he couldn’t think properly. Malfoy wanted to monopolize him and it was pouring like a fall, all pent-up and now gushing out. It was all because of Harry’s provocation that he managed to push Malfoy on edge.

Malfoy’s lips moved on him as Harry nibbled the apple. Sensual. Slow. Careful. Deliberate. Like they weren't Malfoy and Potter. He then nibbled on Harry’s lower lip, placed a chaste kiss on his chin as his right hand pulled on Harry’s hair slowly to expose the paleness of his neck and bit on the sensitive skin there, making Harry shudder. Draco repeated the cycle over and over again until there was no bite of apple left for him to pass on Harry’s mouth. Harry’s body was on fire, and he couldn’t muster up a proper thought. There was no logical explanation out of this.

They never kissed this passionate. And never he would've dreamed of being kissed like this by a man, and Malfoy, of _all_ people.

“Malfoy, I – ” Harry’s head flopped on Malfoy’s shoulder when Malfoy backed his face off of Harry’s face, a pop sound escaping as their lips separated, sweat dribbling down their forehead. To his own surprise, Malfoy clutched on Harry's waist after, catching him from the fall. He wouldn’t know he was shaking this much if Malfoy didn’t hold him like this. “Was that necessary? Doing that?”

“You asked me what I wanted,” Draco said.

“Kissing me – "

“I said I wanted to monopolize you, mainly not for sexual intent."

Harry groaned. “I only asked. No one said I’d actually do what you want.”

Draco huffed. “I just hate you that much, yes.” He grabbed Harry's glasses on the floor and propped it on Harry's lap. His normal disposition towards Harry was back, and for an odd reason, it pained him to see Malfoy masking himself again. 

“Wait,” Harry called, eyebrows conjoining. He was so flustered he didn't know what he was doing. “I talked to you because I wanted to find a way to save all of us from the inevitable war. Voldemort couldn’t keep treating us like his puppet. Promise, Malfoy. I _will_ end our misery. Promise."

And they stared at each other for an interminable moment, his green eyes still seeking and digging the grey hiding an overflowing emotion underneath. It conveyed nothing from the facade, but Harry knew Malfoy wanted to believe him too.

“I wish things were easier for everyone. I really do,” Draco smiled tightly. “But we could never escape the fate of our tomorrow. The Dark Lord has an army, spies, tricks and power, what do _you_ have?”

 _“_ Hogwarts. Everyone with the purest of desires."

“I’m not among your kind.” Draco’s timid expression changed to a forlorn one. “I wish you'd give up on me."

“But I always keep my promises. Rely on me a bit more. I am persistent, am I not? I never stop ‘til I get what I want.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “You and your mouth, Potter. You don't know what you're saying."

"You're right," Harry said. "I don't. It was worth trying my best."

Draco shook his head and there was lingering pain crossing his face even though he masked his emotion well. "You promised to leave me alone after this." Malfoy sighed. "I hope you won't disappoint me. Things are already worse as it is. Fixing things with me is so little compared to what is happening in reality. Don't give up on anything else. Just me, Potter. Give up on me."

And if there's one thing Harry knew, he felt like he had been stabbed over and over again. 

"Okay."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been so long since I updated huh. Hahahahaha. I just got my new laptop and I attempted to continue it with my very best!

The weeks had passed by in a blur, and Harry was sure he had so little sleep to create after the constant nightmare he got from being manipulated by Voldemort. The visions were getting stronger, out of control and too vivid. Harry was mentally exhausted but never he said about this to his friends. But he was sure that the battle was brewing and being planned carefully by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. They are _nearing,_ gnawed in thirst and hunger for power and bursting vengeance. Harry could feel them all, in his head.

He sat up from his bed and fondled himself on the forehead where he was scarred and hurting, letting the air of reality blow on his face. It was a crispy yellow morning and only a couple of Gryffindors were left sleeping like oil tucked in their designated places. It had been a week, he realized. He was not just haunted by his dreams. The reality was quite harsh enough to divert his stress out of his personal problems. The Golden Boy frowned for a moment, remembering he woke up still bothered by his pride being stepped on a week ago.

There was nothing Harry could do about Malfoy anymore, he thought. The blond was hard to convince everything would eventually be fine, or rather, it was hard for Malfoy to gain courage and risk himself to do something right. Harry’s blood boiled feeling neglected by his blond counterpart. Was Harry not trustworthy enough?

Throughout his morning routine in preparation for the first class of the day, his heart was conflicted why there was a bothersome thought stronger than being rejected by Malfoy. He couldn’t point a finger on it, and even if it unveils, he was too petrified to grasp whatever it was.

Harry trudged down to the Great Hall. Once again, he ignored the lively greetings of everyone who knew his existence. Their stares were oddly lingering, and it was too obvious why they seemed to look worried upon seeing him. He knew his body frame got thinner, and the bags under his eyes were more swollen. He could barely avoid the nags Hermione kept throwing at him for being too neglectful of his health, and for now, he didn’t want to deal with it.

Walking past the tables in a blur, Harry sighed and sat beside Neville, making sure he was far from Hermione and Ron, and like all the other students, the Gryffindors’ noise died down upon catching Harry on their vision. The atmosphere turned awkward and Harry couldn’t help but flinch by feeling casted out.

“Wow,” Seamus said, scanning Harry head to toe from across. “Don’t you look… too cozy and formal mate?”

“Formal?” Harry scrunched his eyebrows and stared at his chest and legs. He was wearing his robe normally and he looked decent enough for classes. “Huh?”

“It’s Saturday,” Ginny said, and the Gryffindors blew the loudest of the cackles they could create. Harry swiveled his head around to look at everyone for a moment and it had only hit him now that the reason the students were staring was because he wore his uniform on a weekend. A tint of red crippled up his cheeks and he doffed his robe off in an instant, folding it and pressing it upon his lap in the hopes no one would make a fuss.

Ron and Hermione shushed all the boys at the table and asked Harry questions here and there, but none of them received proper answers. It seemed that they finally noticed Harry didn’t want to be talked to anymore so they decided to resume their usual tittle-tattle, excluding Harry but also not making him feel out of place. Harry appreciated his friends being considerate this way, and all he did was to listen to them talk about legendary Quidditch matches between Montrose Magpies and Ballycastle Bats that made him a little better.

It was a decent and lively breakfast, not until Neville started hushed talking about Malus Domestica—meaning he started talking about apples nonstop with a Hufflepuff nerd who joined them at their table. Ambrosia and Granny Smith seemed to be their favorite to talk about and Harry could feel his eyes grudgingly seeking on the other side of the Great Hall because of what the topic _reminded_ him. He caught a glimpse of Theodore Nott first, then Pansy Parkinson holding her wand out, conjuring her flamingo patronus, and then—

It may not be the best time for Neville to talk about Granny Smith apples.

Harry dipped his head down and consecutively shoved spoonfuls of porridge onto his mouth. He could feel the disturbing warmth of his face tingling, all the way down to his neck. His thoughts numbed for a moment and he got conscious of the sudden loud thumping of his heartbeats.

Harry held his lower lip, unapprised he did, wiping the proofs of his reckless eating off and let his thumb linger there for awhile. It was a good thing his friends are engrossed with their current topic.

 _He recalled persisting softness, warmth and aggressive movements of wanting more in return_.

Indecent thoughts flooded Harry’s train of thoughts and before he knew it, he was staring at Draco longer than he should have, magnetized and furious of what mess and embarrassment Draco made out of him. Malfoy was as prim and proper as he could get, pecking on his bacon like a bird and as elegant as the other Malfoys were in Harry’s visions. He seemed to not have an appetite as much as Harry does because he barely touched his full breakfast. He looked stern and in a very foul mood, but not as worse as Harry looked. Draco only looked a little rumpled from his usual self but his demeanor was intact, which changed nothing in Malfoy whatsoever. He looked haughty and confident in his simple dark green sweater.

Before realization had hit the Gryffindor, Malfoy’s eyes had already landed on his as well, catching Harry red-handed. In five seconds, Harry’s lungs felt a strong force of contraction, and in a flash, he was dashing out of the Great Hall. He forgot if his robe was with him but he couldn’t care less. He wanted to run _. Run as fast as he could._

Such a shame Harry had lots to do with Ron and Hermione about the Vanishing Cabinet yet there he was, acting all coy when he could raise his middle finger at Malfoy like the usual instead of striding out of the Hall. Harry wasn’t in his usual self at all.

Ten pillars later, he halted on a dark corridor, letting his sweat trickle down his forehead and air fog up his glasses. Upon his recovery, he sauntered away through the corridor to come back to the Gryffindor tower. Turning left, his chest collided with another person, causing him to stagger backwards.

And Harry wanted to evaporate at that exact same moment.

“Dilly-dallying in a very fine morning, Mr. Potter? What are your glasses for then?” Snape looked at him like what a normal person would look at an insect, and as usual, the Professor looked brooding and revolted of knowing a Potter still exists to this day. Harry composed himself for a moment and had let the insulting tone of the deep voice pass through his other ear.

“I apologize, Professor Snape.”

“Well, if you really were, could you be of any assistance?”

Harry’s eyes widened. Why must it be him of all people? “Professor, it’s Saturday and you know Potions is not my—“

“Call Mr. Malfoy from the Great Hall,” he said.

“What?” Harry heard a frantic disbelief in his own tone.

“Malfoy is one of my best Potions students, Mr. Potter. If you would not be enough of assistance, then you two could work together. Go straight to my classroom, quickly now.”

Harry’s cheeks pinked in fury. The gods yet again bestowed a cruel curse upon his Saturday and he wanted to Hex everyone for it. Sighing mentally, he said his brief farewell to Snape and begrudgingly trudged back to the Great Hall. He wiped his sweat, tended to his fogged glasses, and brushed his hair with his dampened fingers. The Great Hall was starting to be deserted and all his Gryffindor friends had dissipated as well. Considering it a bit of a good thing they weren’t there anymore, Harry went straight ahead to the Slytherins and looked at anything except Malfoy’s Parkinson’s and Zabini’s eyes that were all trained on him.

“Malfoy, Professor Snape needs something from us. He told me to bring you with me.” Harry looked at his shoes fondly, and he wished he could for the whole day. “I would appreciate it if follow me now to his classroom. I have no time.”

Harry coughed to clear his throat and walked out from the Hall again. He didn’t look back but he made his movements swift, not daring to peer past his shoulder and say anything to Malfoy. His heart was pounding for no reason, and arriving at the classroom made it worse. Snape was seated on the teacher’s desk with his arms crossed, his movements telling Harry to not let his curiosity get the best of him and decide to touch all the ornaments and recipes scattered around the barely maintained and dusted classroom that smelled like spicy muggle condiments.

Harry stood before a clean table and watched Snape give Draco a rolled paper, which he thought contained the instructions only Malfoy would understand better than him. After a few minutes, Snape then left the classroom and left the door open, which was a relief because the last time he was in a room with Malfoy, they had to survive each other’s presence throughout a night.

“Potter.”

Harry unconsciously stepped his right foot backward, his heart pounding harder after hearing his name from Malfoy’s lips. It was the first time since last week because they avoided each other as much as they could in every corner of the castle. Now, hearing Malfoy’s voice did wonders to Harry’s ears.

Malfoy did not hesitate to stand beside Harry and unfurled the paper on the table. It might be an illusion for Harry’s part that he thought the blond was being gentle with him. He shook his head and responded to Malfoy.

“I don’t know if I would be of any help to this but I admit I don’t have enough brain power for Potions.”

“I know.”

Harry bit his lower lip and turned away. There was an urge to say a proper comeback of an insult, but at the same time, urge to ask Malfoy to change his mind again and force him until he says yes. Out of all his poorly-made choices, Harry chose to keep quiet instead and listened to Malfoy attentively. He looked at the paper for a moment and the ingredients listed are too complicated to even be read properly.

“We’re not here to do anything complicated, Potter. We are only going to arrange potion ingredients in their strength order and not alphabetically. It’s our job to collect all the ingredients. Some first years hadn’t had proper control with their wands yesterday and it had direly caused damage to Professor Snape’s classroom.”

Harry nodded, and noticed the awkward atmosphere vanishing, it must be a good thing Malfoy was dedicated to organizing things properly. “But I don’t know how to identify which is which and how to arrange it by their strength.”

Draco paused for a moment and took a moment to roll his eyes. “I am not a display. I will tell you what and how to arrange.”

“So you’d boss me around, instruct me and let me do all the work?”

Malfoy’s eyes squinted. “No. Do you want my help or not, Potter? Your brain couldn’t even handle spelling _Bubotuber Pus_ last Wednesday and you think this is unfair? I am doing you a favor.”

“Fine.” Harry huffed and had let Malfoy tell him what to do. At least Harry need not to clear the atmosphere anymore because their usual treatment of each other had returned to normal and Harry would most likely to only avoid getting Malfoy and him in a very close space. Malfoy asked to give up on him, and Harry was doing it properly.

For thirty minutes, he circulated around the classroom and plucked vials and bottles he found, showing it all to Malfoy one by one and made him check what the potion was. Harry thought he would do all the work but Malfoy only made him paw all the scattered potions off the ground and the blond was the one who mostly arranged it on Snape’s shelf. For an hour, they got used to maneuvering around the room and worked together properly. Harry never thought they could remain as silent and obedient as they were at the moment.

At the same time, Harry’s mind was cluttered amidst the interminable silence of the cold room. He had tons of questions in his mind and he wanted to pour it all out in one go. Malfoy was right there yet he couldn’t bring himself to ask about anything. There was so much he could do yet he was so still restricted by reality.

“Potter.”

“What?” Harry asked in a haze and his eyes widened when he found Malfoy was no longer hunkering down at one of the bottommost part of the shelf. He was now beside him, inspecting him like a specimen and sniffed his neck in one swift motion. An overwhelming scent of mint wafted through his nose and Harry shuddered from the cold touch of air caused by Malfoy’s breathing right on his collarbone. He pushed him in reflex but then he remembered Malfoy had an unfaltering strength.

“Bloody wanker? What was that for?” he asked, his mind almost collapsing from what happened.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and stepped back, crossing his arms. “I will explain. Wizards tend to have distinct scents when they are sick. It’s a technique healers use to distinguish what kind of sickness you may have. Was it a Curse? Natural sickness? A Hex? Aftereffects of drinking a potion that contained an ingredient you are allergic to? Healers do that, Potter. I just smelled you.”

Harry gritted his teeth, his left hand unconsciously finding his wand in his pocket. He forgot Malfoy had tendencies to be a know-it-all. “But why do you have to smell right on my neck? At least warn me.”

Malfoy threw him a scornful glance. “Neck is one of the weak points of a human body and healers found out that weak points emit the strongest of scents, and what would you respond if someone asks you to smell your neck? Knowing your Gryffindor arse, you’d blast me off this room without using your brain.”

The Gryffindor’s cheeks heated up, shoving _Baneberry_ on to the top part of the shelf and rubbed his neck where Malfoy had contact with. “It’s not surprising we don’t get along. I would fucking _kill_ you right now.”

Harry glared at Malfoy for a second, and he saw nothing but amusement in his counterpart’s eyes. “Damsel in distress, go right ahead to the Hospital Wing. I have no obligation to carry you all the way to Madam Pomfrey and pamper your arse.”

Harry furrowed his brow, turned away and held his own jaw as he walked out of the door. He really was warmer than his usual temperature. He couldn’t smell anything but his sweat and the strong scent of musk and Harry never knew about this scent thing healers do. Malfoy must have a strong sense of smell, wanting to be a healer at some point of his life.

He carefully lifted his arm and held his right wrist. He was awfully thinner and frailer and only just now he found put that his skin was more pallid-looking than Malfoy’s. He was ruining his physical health and he didn’t know what to do about it. Everything was going downhill in his life yet he didn’t know how and when he’d be able to fix it.

After a few seconds of sauntering to the Hospital Wing, Harry’s mind blanked and oddly, he wasn’t able to move for awhile, his ears rang a high frequency sound and his surrounding had blurred. Harry staggered when he stepped forward, and found out that his legs were wobbling up to his waist. After a few moments of heavy breathing, he dropped down on his knees.

He was fainting he realized, head numbing and not able to hear anything from the surrounding, but before he knew it, a hand had scooped him off the floor and carried his body _._ Harry wasn’t unconscious yet so he knew whose scent was it that his nose caught. He stared up for a moment, seeing a pale and slender face with very pink cheeks.

“You are such a weakling at times, Potter. You are fucking embarrassing.”

Harry, instead of producing a retort, reluctantly curled in Draco’s grasp and buried his head on his shoulder since his neck couldn’t support the weight of his head at the moment. He couldn’t even produce a coherent yes or no to Malfoy. He knew he would regret and contemplate about this later on, but he couldn’t think properly for now.

Harry opened his eyes for a moment to see what was happening and he saw that he was already laid upon one of the beds in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey was too quick to move around and Malfoy assisted her well. He couldn’t see clearly since Malfoy removed his glasses, along with his shirt under Madam Pomfrey’s orders. She wiped his face first, then bare chest, back and arms with cloth soaked in lukewarm water, dabbing him a cooling ointment on the forehead after Harry donned his hospital gown.

The Gryffindor was tucked in the blanket that the Madam had provided and had a chitchat with Malfoy of how serious Harry’s condition was. Harry heard that he might develop a Chronic Fatigue if he didn’t stop his bad eating habits now and it was Malfoy’s job to monitor his health, in which Harry saw how much the blond was holding back to say that he wasn’t Harry’s friend and the two of them would most likely to get on each other’s throat once the Madam was gone.

She ordered a kitchen elf to bring Harry a full meal and asked for the blond to stay for awhile and keep an eye on him.

“Madam, would I be able to leave later on too?” Harry asked and remembered his untouched assignments for three days that needed to be done by Monday. There was also their usual inter-house unity every weekend where he and Draco had to participate in as well.

“Yes, but you will be supervised by your friend for a while to see if you would need an extra day here or if you could be discharged in a few hours. Five points to Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. Your knowledge in smelling sickness helped me to know what procedure should I do faster than usual.”

Harry kept flinching at the word ‘friend’ but somehow, thankful for Malfoy being human enough to bring him to the Hospital Wing. The madam then left after an elf popped in from the door and served Harry fish and chips with dessert on another plate. When the door had closed, where the Madam just went through, Harry was suddenly aware of the coldness of the Hospital Wing and Draco’s sharp stare who was sunken down beside Harry’s bed.

“You are fucking dead Potter,” were the first words he heard from Draco, and Harry fought his need to strangle him. “My weekend mornings are supposed to be relaxing, not accompanying a guy attempting to have micronutrient deficiency.”

Harry was about to open his mouth but he looked down instead, prodding on his food with a spoon and ate silently. He had let Malfoy stare at him for the sake of supervision and engulfed the medicine his body needed. The food wasn’t stale but he couldn’t eat it well since his hands were shaking. He heard Malfoy wince while watching him and he couldn’t help but to blush.

“You could leave, you know. You don’t want to be here, just go. I can manage myself.”

And Harry knew that what he said was too contradictory because his spoon fell back to his plate when he raised it to shove a spoonful to his mouth.

“Merlin, I am babysitting the worst person to be with.” Draco shook his head and stole Harry’s spoon. He scooched over to Harry’s side further and was the one to prod the spoon to Harry’s mouth while looking at the other side of the room. He was surprisingly gentle and doing so, and Harry remained still on his place, gaping his mouth open when Malfoy shoved another spoonful. He couldn’t tell how fast his heartbeats were at the moment, but it was all he could hear and all he thought of.

After eating in a bearable silence, Harry drank his water and watched Malfoy clean his plates up to give to the elf who was waiting for him to finish at the corner, he then pawed one of the cooling pads off the side table and waded it on Harry’s forehead.

“Thank you for taking care of me. I know this was a lot,” he managed to say to the blond who patiently did his best to do all what Madam Pomfrey ordered. Draco looked kind and composed like this, not speaking like a professional doctor would do while assisting patients. Harry wished he had that kind of calm and collected air around him. Malfoy was impressive as a person overall, but Harry knew that it was only to him that Malfoy would show his despicable and maddening side.

“I don’t want to hear you thanking me. Just don’t neglect your health like this. Wease—Weasley and Granger would be worried of you. Friends are one of the reasons we survive in this world. Don’t disappoint them like this. They’ve shown you love when no one else could bring you that affection. At least appreciate their efforts, Potter.”

Harry’s heart skipped a thunderous beat and widened his eyes for a moment, having his eyes trained on Malfoy’s own. The Slytherin had a soft, forlorn and vulnerable look around him and Harry felt like shivering from being gazed upon like this. His eyes were starting to form tears and just like that, his heart was unbearably heavy. He had been avoidant of his feelings these days and didn’t have the proper time to cry. Before he knew it, tears streamed down his cheeks and laid back to his bed to hide his reddened face. Soft whimpers escaped his lips and he needed to put his blanket up to the top of his nook.

He was now breaking down and he was too scared to admit the weakness slowly eating his system. The pressure of the whole world had rested upon his shoulder and neglecting important things in his life had been what he did instead of appreciating them.

“Potter,” a soft hushed tone spoke atop his face and when he brought his blanket off his face, he saw Malfoy glaring but offering his right hand to him, like it was alright to breakdown in Malfoy’s arm where he wouldn’t judge “Potter” for a few minutes and forget their usual roles—that he was just a man, wanting to be heard and calmed down by a helping hand.

Harry didn’t hesitate anymore and sat back up, revealing his glazed eyes and tipping forward to embrace Malfoy, who was offering the space between his arms. Harry gently placed his head on the comfort of his chest and then he started sobbing, shuddering and whimpering altogether.

“Aren’t we too young to experience these tremendous pains in our lifetime?” he said, letting Malfoy’s warmth envelop him. “It’s hard to pretend you are strong all the time. People have expectations from me, and I did nothing but to disappoint important people in my lives.

He buried his head on Malfoy’s collarbone, and his emotions had poured out of him like waterfall. As for the blond, he remained silent and still, arms wrapped around Harry’s back. “You’re right, Malfoy. Everyone’s Golden boy is an utter embarrassment.”

“Shut up and cry. Insults and truths are completely different from each other. Have a little common sense. I may have said that to degrade you, but it does not define you, Potter. Why is your brain so small to comprehend this?”

Malfoy gripped on Harry’s shoulders and it caused Harry nothing but for butterflies to run amok in his stomach. He looked up at Malfoy, bewildered and seeking and lost. Sometimes he wished he knew what Malfoy had in mind. _Why couldn’t he drop his façade and reveal what he was as a human being?_

Harry’s eyelids had dropped a little and wiped the tear drying on both sides of his face. Malfoy was still holding him in place, and the sense of protection he felt was too strong that he was oddly soothed of Malfoy existing and sitting in front of him, complaining yet concerned, mad but human enough to feel and relate with the pain of other people.

“Okay then, thank you,” Harry started, calmer than his tremulous voice a few minutes ago. “What do you think of me for real, Malfoy?”

Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses yet he could see the same shock and bewilderment plastered on Draco’s face. They gazed upon the deepness of each other’s eyes, willing to be lost for a moment, to be seen naked and be vulnerable.

Draco looked down, and Harry wished he knew what that small reaction meant. “You ask me what I think of you.” He paused and looked back at Harry’s softened eyes.

“I don’t want you to know.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t know why but he just did. Malfoy bit his inner cheek, and Harry didn’t even react when Malfoy’s hand cupped the right side of his face. He should be aware that they were straight males, doing things like this in broad daylight, and Harry had closed his eyes, leaning towards Draco’s palm, nudging it and held on Draco’s back tighter. He felt Malfoy’s other hand caress on his other cheek and wiped off Harry's tears himself with his fingers. _Harry wanted more._

He opened his eyes slowly, only to see Malfoy’s eyes half-lidded and still watching Harry’s face. Harry’s heart shook upon seeing Malfoy this nervous, and his cheeks were as pink as Harry imagined himself he had too.

“Would you kiss me?” Harry asked, mouth gaping slowly for invitation and caressed Malfoy’s nape. He felt satisfaction when Malfoy’s body shuddered in his hands, and he didn’t know who leaned forward first but then they were both tipping their head forward and had let their lips softly collide together, tickling and warm and familiar. The thin yet soft mouth Draco had made Harry remember all the indecent things he had done with him and the carnal desire had only grown inside him further.

“Malfo—“ Draco ate the words out of Harry’s mouth by grabbing his chin in place and gave Harry his second chaste kiss, and then it turned slow, deliberate, longing and needy—Harry could not explain the feeling. He had gone completely crazy. His heart was beating fast, and his brain was melting to hell that he didn’t want to think anymore.

Draco found the softness of Harry’s shoulder and caressed it as gently as he could. Up and down, he tasted and savored Harry’s lips, nibbling on each mount of it and a moan escaped from Harry’s lips when Draco suddenly prodded his tongue in his mouth, creating wet and lewd sounds as they decided to speed the movements of the kiss. It was heaven, it was wrong yet so right, Harry kept leaning his body forward and made sure that he clung on Draco’s back properly.

“Potter you’re just,” Draco said, panting and Harry’s heart dropped. His hair was a blond mess and his eyes, were as dark as it could get for a grey set of eyes, “You are so good at pressing my buttons.”

Harry felt the need to feel insulted yet he didn’t. Instead, he tipped forward again and captured Draco’s swollen lips, obviously still not satisfied. Draco’s hands found its way to grab Harry’s hands off his neck, held it together with just his right hand and devoured Harry’s neck next, biting on the soft and vulnerable flesh he had smelled almost an hour ago. Harry trembled, head looking in an opposite direction to give permission to Malfoy’s onslaught and felt his body protrude goosebumps when Draco licked down a path to the top of his chest. Just by simply untying the ribbon of Harry’s hospital gown, Draco managed to doff it off with one hand and lapped on Harry’s erect and pink nipples. He stared at it after he made it more swollen, and Harry did nothing but to bite his lower lip and whimper in ecstacy. Malfoy’s hand was still holding his wrists in place just above his head and Harry’s eyes almost rolled when Draco started flicking his right nipples while on the left, he bit and sucked like his life depended on it.

“Malfoy, please,” Harry pleaded while Malfoy was still gnawing on his chest. “Don’t make it too sensitive. I feel like fainting.”

And he thought Draco’s eyes couldn’t get darker,

“Tempting me like you are allowed, Potter.” Draco released Harry’s arm, bit his lower lip as he looked from Harry’s reddened nipples like he was possessed by lust and went back up to kiss Harry again, more bruising and harsher than the last time. He pressed down his body onto Harry, pinning the smaller figure under him. They felt each other’s erection, and Harry didn’t feel any disgust at all.

“Sit up, I will help you wank,” Draco offered and Harry’s world began spiraling to oblivion. He didn’t have any proper strength to lift himself up, so it was Malfoy who had grabbed his shoulder and pulled Harry to his chest. Harry kissed Draco’s neck for a moment and sat on top of Draco’s lap, lifting his ass a little to prepare himself. He was wearing nothing but his boxers now, and so he allowed Malfoy to take it off, his erection bouncing up to his lower abdomen when he was now fully-naked. He closed his eyes, reddening from the reality flashing before his face.

Harry fell on Draco’s body when he started stroking his back, his waist and, teasingly rubbing on the crevice of Harry’s arse. Harry jolted and whimpered when he tightened himself up after he was touched on that particular area. Fear erupted in Harry’s heart when he thought of something entering such little hole.

“Potter, don’t raise your arse. I said I am wanking you, not that. Don’t do that.”

“I’ve never been touched like this by a bloke, I’m sorry.”

Draco chuckled, making Harry shiver. “God, you think this is not a first for me too? God knows how many girls have I flirted with and here you are.”

Malfoy bit on Harry’s neck as his right hand made its way to touch Harry’s erection, and the overwhelming pleasure erupting inside Harry was out of control. He covered his mouth when Malfoy started to move his hand the way a man would usually touch himself. On the head he pressed his thumb on it first, and then started stroking him properly. The blond seemed to be displeased of the way Harry was biting his own palm so he swatted it away with his free hand and replaced Harry’s hand with his lips, sucking all of Harry’s whimpers and carnal desires out of his body. After a few minutes, the stroking became more frantic and Harry was almost shouting.

Fuck. _Fuck fuck fuck._

One last gasp, Harry’s vision darkened as he came in Draco’s hand. He felt drowsy all of the sudden. He rested his head one last time on the blond’s shoulder and stayed there. Upon looking up again, Malfoy placed a feathery kiss on Harry’s forehead and said, “As much as I’d love to say what I really think of you, Potter. I can’t.”

Harry, although his mind was still melted, he managed to frown. He held on Draco’s shoulder for a moment and looked at him with half-lidded eyes. He saw affection and restraint fighting within Draco’s eyes, and he didn’t want to peek. Malfoy was still a person too complex to understand. Harry was too afraid to know the secrets behind such façade.

But then he asked, “Why don’t you want me to know what you think of me?”

“You wouldn’t like it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it!


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